


Fluff: The Holiday Edition

by Jassy



Series: Fluffverse [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderfluid Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27049801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jassy/pseuds/Jassy
Summary: Everyone has THAT relation, don't they? The pain in the ass sibling/cousin/uncle? Jaskier gets to meet Geralt's. It goes about as well as you'd expect.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Lambert/Triss Merigold
Series: Fluffverse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684402
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	Fluff: The Holiday Edition

**Author's Note:**

> I've been tinkering with this on and off for a while. What I wanted was a happy little fic about a mid-winter holiday so Geralt had an excuse to try his hand at giving presents. This is what happened instead.

Jaskier shifted slightly where he was balanced on the saddle in front of Geralt and felt one of Geralt’s hands move to rub behind his ears. As much as Jaskier had been _trying_ to pay attention to their route, it was almost impossible to ignore that hand, and his eyes squinted shut and the purr started to rumble in his chest.

Next to them on Rascal’s back, Ciri giggled. “I love it when he does that.”

Jaskier tried. He really did. He _wanted_ to glare with offended dignity, but Geralt didn’t let up with the ear rub, and he was insanely good at it.

Never mind – he would glare at her later. **He** was going to enjoy the ear rub and snuggling back into the heat of Geralt’s body where it blocked the freezing wind. They would reach Kaer Morhen by the end of the day for Jaskier’s third winter. Ciri had been with them for the last month, and while she was a delight to travel with, it had made it so he and Geralt had needed to be more restrained at night (and in the mornings, the afternoons, and basically just around the clock in general) than they usually were. He was looking forward to having thick stone walls and a nice secure door so that Geralt could spend some time making him scream.

Still, the ear rubs were an excellent substitute in the meantime. It was no hardship to curl up for the day’s ride, and with the somewhat later than intended start to the journey back, the horses could move faster if neither were carrying a double load. Not that they couldn’t contact Yennefer for a portal if they were caught out, but the point had been to give Ciri an extended taste of life on the road, with all its hardships and trials. She had done amazingly well, of course. She hadn’t complained in the slightest about sleeping outdoors or having to catch supper, or the scarcity of bathing opportunities. She hadn’t been thrilled with having to hide beneath tree cover to shelter from the worst of the rain when it happened, nor with sleeping damp that night, but she hadn’t complained.

Jaskier certainly had when he’d first begun traveling with Geralt, but he had soon learned that it wasn’t something you could really do much to control – unless you were wealthy enough for a tent, which would weigh them down more than was feasible.

The sun had begun to sink below the horizon when they finally rode through the gates of Kaer Morhen. Jaskier jumped down once they were in the stables and then made a chirping noise of surprise. There were several horses already present, not just Lambert and Eskel’s. “I see them,” Geralt acknowledged.

“Who do they belong to?” Ciri wondered as she began to strip the bags and saddle from Rascal. The care of the still energetic young horse had been entirely on her while she was his rider, and she had tackled that task with the same determination that she had every other task.

“Other witchers, naturally. I know word has spread about you to many of my brothers, so I’m sure they’ll be interested in meeting you.”

Ciri rolled her eyes. “Well, I assumed other witchers. I meant which ones?”

“I have no idea. I don’t know every horse belonging to every witcher. It can be decades between seeing most of them, I don’t keep track of their mounts.” Geralt’s tone was nothing but eyeroll in return, and Ciri stuck her tongue out at him.

Jaskier watched it all with amusement. Ciri had definitely developed sass lately as she ran headfirst into her teens, and she kept expecting Geralt to be…well, he wasn’t sure. But him returning her sass generally seemed to **not** be the reaction she was expecting. She didn’t get to hear his exasperation later, of course, only Jaskier did. He also got to hear her complain that Geralt was just so unflappable, and didn’t anything ever bother him?

Jaskier generally found himself laughing at the pair, one determined to test boundaries and get a rise, the other determined to weather this difficult phase without exploding. It was fond laughter, as the situation was a far cry from his own shitty upbringing, and he did his best to soothe both parties where he could.

When the horses were taken care of, Jaskier climbed up to Geralt’s shoulder as the pair lifted their belongings and headed into the keep. They were met by Yennefer, who immediately went to Ciri to give her a hug in greeting. “You’ve several brothers visiting,” she informed Geralt dryly. “It would seem they’ve heard about your little family and are extremely curious. Eskel and Lambert have been bragging about her for three days now.”

Geralt grunted. Jaskier nipped his ear. “Oh right. Thanks, Yen. Who’s here?”

“Gweld, Varin, Aubry, and Berengar. And Vesemir, of course. Does he ever leave the mountain?”

“Not if he can help it. Ciri, why don’t you go unpack?” Geralt suggested as the girl started towards the stairs to do just that. She stiffened a bit and cast him a scathing look, not unlike one of Yennefer’s.

“Really? I thought I’d just dump everything here in the hall for the winter.”

“It’s an option, but then your books would likely get trampled, and I don’t think your lute would fair very well,” Geralt said, totally deadpan.

Yennefer stifled a smirk. “Just put your things in your room for now. Triss and I have informed everyone that the baths are off limits for the next couple of hours. I’m sure you would love a good soak.”

“Oh, that would be lovely! They seem to have an aversion to bathing,” Ciri ‘confided’ to Yennefer as they walked out.

Geralt sighed when they were out of sight. “I swear to the gods, that girl,” he grumbled. Jaskier chirruped at him, the best he could manage until they got somewhere he could get dressed. Geralt rolled his shoulders and started up the stairs himself. They didn’t see any of the others on their way to their room, thankfully, and he jumped down and shifted as soon as the door was shut behind them. He stretched and hummed as Geralt dropped their things to slide his hands around his waist. “Mmm, privacy,” he muttered, mouth latching onto Jaskier’s neck.

“Privacy,” Jaskier agreed dreamily. His hands got to work on Geralt’s clothes. Geralt was quick to assist him, and once he was as naked as Jaskier, picked him up and carried him over to the bed.

Quite a bit later, Jaskier languidly carded his fingers through Geralt’s hair. “So you know these other witchers?”

“Not as well as Eskel and Lambert, but yes. They don’t return as often for the winter. They can be trusted with Ciri, though. I don’t know others from other schools as well, but they’re all wolf. We’re safe enough.”

“Wonder what they’ll think of me?” he mused. “Doesn’t sound like there’s been much mention of me.” He snickered. “Should we lay odds on at least one of them calling me your bedwarmer?”

“They’d better not. I want a restful winter. I’m not in the mood to be busting heads the whole time until they get the point.”

Jaskier laughed outright. “I’m not sure you’d have to. Lambert might do it for you – if only to show off for Triss.”

“They still haven’t mentioned how they met.”

“Does it matter? C’mon, witcher-mine. It’s been at least two hours. I would like a nice hot soak. We’ll deal with laundry later.” He rolled out of bed and threw on Geralt’s shirt. Geralt pulled on his pants. For all there were supposed to be extra people around the place, they still managed to not see anyone on their way, which was nice since Jaskier couldn’t really keep his hands off of all that bare skin, and Geralt’s hands kept wandering up beneath the shirt.

Fortunately the baths were indeed empty. Jaskier dropped the shirt and slid in, ducking underneath to wet his hair. When he popped up, he found Geralt leaning against the side of the tub, gaze distinctly predatory. Jaskier waded over to him, stopping just in front so their legs brushed. He reached past his witcher, groping over the side for the bar of plain rough soap that was always available – he would have to remember to unpack the nicer stuff he’d brought. For now, this would do. He worked up a good lather then set his foamy hands to Geralt’s chest. He worked slowly, covering every inch of the scarred skin in front of him with his hands and the soap, washing away the dust of the road and the sweat and other fluids from their earlier coupling. He dug his fingers a bit harder where he encountered knotted muscles, earning him a barely there groan of pleasure as the knots released.

He bypassed the needy cock sticking up flat against Geralt’s belly and moved onto his legs, one at a time, as Geralt obligingly leaned back and let his legs float in the water. The groan he let out when Jaskier massaged his feet was rather louder than the others, so he spent a good long while working there, until Geralt grew impatient and reached for him. “Ah ah, my love. Not yet. I’m not done with you yet,” he admonished.

“You’re evil,” Geralt informed him.

“Don’t worry – you’ll have the opportunity to impale me upon your sword soon enough, witcher-mine.” Geralt nudged him with his foot, as close as he would get to an actual kick, for that one. Jaskier took enough pity on him to work his way back up, then slithered so that he sat on the bench. With fresh lather coating his hands, he started washing Geralt’s hair, a particular pleasure for both of them. By the time he was done, Geralt’s hair was free of even the smallest of tangles and floating in the water around his head in a silvery halo. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he whispered, leaning over so that his lips brushed the smooth skin of Geralt’s forehead.

“You must be blind, fluff.” Geralt turned over in the water to kneel in front of him, hands settling on his hips.

Jaskier shook his head and cupped his face. “No, love, my eyesight, like my pitch, is perfect.” He smoothed his hands down his neck, along his shoulders, and around to his back. He felt every single scar under his touch. “I know you think the scars are unpleasant, and your eyes and hair odd. But I love every single one of them – they mean you were stronger, every time. That you _lived_. And your eyes, love, are the most beautiful pair of eyes I have ever seen – molten gold when you’re aroused, and the palest cold yellow when you’re angry. And your hair – like spun silver. There is no part of you that isn’t beautiful.”

Geralt swallowed and wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him closer so that he could tuck his face against his neck. “I still think you blind,” he mumbled. “But I love you anyway.”

“That’s good – I am hopelessly, utterly in love with you, so we are well matched.”

“Yes – yes we are.” Geralt lifted his head so he could take Jaskier’s mouth in a searing kiss, devouring his mouth like his life depended on it. Jaskier hitched his legs up high, opening himself wider, and reached down to guide Geralt in where he belonged.

The door _slammed_ open, and a voice boomed, “Geralt, you white haired freak, what the fuck is taking you so long? Phew, smells like a bloody brothel in here.”

Geralt _snarled_ and whirled in the tub, blocking Jaskier with his bulk, one hand out ready with a sign. Jaskier’s cock had never deflated so fast in his life, and he wasn’t proud of the little ‘eep’ that slipped out of him. He peeked over Geralt’s shoulder towards the door to see another witcher, tall and relatively lean, with sleek black hair tied at the nape and a neatly trimmed mustache. “Varin,” Geralt said tightly.

The other witcher walked closer, keen eyes easily making out Jaskier. “Oh-ho! So _this_ is what’s taking you so long. Explains the smell, too – how you two managed to stink up the place when you’re in _water_ I’m not sure I want to know. You must be the bard.” There was amusement there, but Jaskier wasn’t sure he liked it. It bordered on mocking, and the way Varin so easily dismissed Geralt raised his hackles a bit.

“I am,” he bit out. Geralt shifted them both to keep Jaskier behind him as Varin rounded their tub, apparently intent on shaking his hand. Jaskier kept both of his hands firmly on Geralt’s hips, and Varin’s smile widened a little.

“Pretty little songbird, aren’t you? Tell me, is your voice as pretty as your eyes?”

Jaskier scoffed. “My voice is amazing, while my eyes are simply blue. Quite common, alas. Now then, what is it you were wanting? As you can see, we were in the middle of bathing. _Not_ an activity that I am accustomed to having an audience for, I’m afraid.” Mostly unconsciously, his tone had taken on the arrogance his family had once demanded of him, the tone that said that he was really too good to be speaking to you, so be grateful he had lowered himself to do so. Typically only really shitty aldermen trying to skimp on payments and Valdo Marx brought that out.

“Why, I simply came to find you both for dinner. It has been ready for some time, and my brothers and I have been waiting to catch up with Geralt – and waiting to meet you, of course. That young lady of yours is quite spirited.”

Jaskier stiffened in a whole new way and his eyes narrowed. “She’s fourteen,” he said pointedly. “And we are all extremely fond of her – Geralt and I, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert, and the two sorceresses that I’m sure you’ve met.”

“I meant nothing improper, bard,” Varin said, raising both hands.

“Good – keep it that way,” Geralt ordered. “Now piss off so we can get dressed. We’ll be up for dinner when we’re done.”

“Always so tetchy,” Varin tsked. He bent and snagged the shirt from the floor. Jaskier could see his nostrils flare ever so slightly, then he held it towards Geralt. Geralt didn’t move from his spot shielding Jaskier. Varin snickered and let the shirt fall again. “You’ve never been modest before, brother.”

“But you’ve always been an ass. I’d hoped you’d have gotten over that by now.”

“Never. You’d best hurry before all the ale is gone. You’ll be singing for us, won’t you songbird?”

“Doubtful,” Jaskier said flatly.

Varin affected a pout. “But we’ve heard so much about your songs, songbird.”

“My name is Jaskier. Not songbird.”

“Jaskier then. I’ll see you both at dinner.” Varin sketched a little, mocking salute, then turned and left.

“I don’t like him,” Jaskier said as soon as the door was shut.

“You’re one of the few. Most people, even humans, find him charming. He _is_ one of the most attractive witchers roaming about.”

Jaskier paused where he was halfway out of the tub and cast him an incredulous look. “ _That_ guy, attractive? He’s so…slimy. Are you sure we can trust him with Ciri?”

“He’s never gone for younglings,” Geralt assured him. “As much as he’s always enjoyed fucking with me, he will not harm her. I have never heard of him breaking the code by which we live. I know you couldn’t smell it, but all of that? Was amusement for him. He was the type of boy who enjoyed hiding others’ things and watching them get frustrated while they looked.”

“So an ass then.”

“Yes. You can expect annoying nicknames and some bullshit, but he won’t hurt you or Ciri.”

Jaskier wasn’t so sure. He had known those types both at court and Oxenfurt. They would taunt and prank – vicious pranks, never true and harmless ones – and then when you got upset, turn it around on you for lacking a sense of humor and play the wounded party just trying to have fun. And if someone had something they did not, they invariably attempted to either break it or take it, even if they didn’t actually want it themselves. Just so someone else did not.

But he would bide his time and hold his tongue – for the most part.

Their previous mood was thoroughly put on hold. They returned to their room and dressed, although Jaskier was in a mood enough himself to steal one of Geralt’s shirts to wear rather than one of his own. The actual dinner hour had passed some time ago, but there was always food enough in the kitchens. They found Lambert shoveling stew into his mouth and joined him.

“Thank fuck you’re here,” Lambert grunted. “If I have to put up with Varin, then so do you!”

“We met,” Jaskier said dryly. “I was not impressed.”

“You’re one of the few. Most folk think he’s awfully pretty, at least til they find out he’s a witcher. He’s been giving me shit about the harp for days now.”

“Well he can go fuck himself. He hasn’t messed with it, has he? Do we need to get it repaired?”

“Did he have both arms broken when you saw him?”

“No.”

Lambert grunted, a sort of there you have it noise. “Besides,” he added, “Triss spelled it for me. Should withstand anything except a truly dedicated attempt to fuck it up.”

“Oh, that’s nice! Let me know when you’d like to play. I’ve picked up a couple new pieces for both harp and violin that I’ve been dying to play.” Lambert, in his own gruff, unique way, looked interested. The expression wiped clean and a few seconds later, a group of witchers trouped in, Varin amongst them.

Geralt grunted at them with a very tiny nod. Jaskier was used to slightly move effusive greetings on Geralt’s part, so he assumed even the other three witchers were not ones that Geralt called friends. Trusted, maybe, to keep Ciri’s secret and defend her, but not close enough to be brought into the odd little circle that surrounded his witcher and his child surprise.

“So how did the cub take to life on the road?” Lambert asked.

“She did fine.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “She did pretty well, actually. She didn’t complain about even the shitty parts. And she even got to help with a contract,” he added. “You should let her tell you about it, but she did really well. Not a scratch on her, although she wasn’t happy about the dirty water.”

“You let a human girl help on a hunt?” one of the new witchers asked, sounding a bit astonished, and a bit reproving.

Geralt speared him with a look. “Yes. She’s been training here for years, it was time to get her feet wet. And drowners are easy.”

“Still though.”

“Oh shut it, Aubry. The girl is a natural. Between her swords and her magic, no drowner was ever going to touch her,” Lambert snapped.

Jaskier eyed the witchers, noting that the other two seemed as skeptical as Aubry did. Varin, though, Varin just maintained an expression of arrogant amusement, sharp eyes noting every detail of the way Jaskier and Geralt were sitting, automatically handing each other things, moving in the tandem of long time companions intimately familiar with each other. Then his eyes flicked to meet Jaskier’s and his gaze grew heavy lidded and traced deliberately over the parts of Jaskier visible above the table. Jaskier let his own gaze grow cold and leaned pointedly against Geralt, pleased when his lover automatically put his arm around him.

Lambert started to get truly irate at the insistence of the other witchers that no human girl, however talented, could or should be taken on contracts. Jaskier decided to ignore Varin and reached out to touch Lambert’s arm. “Don’t worry about it, Lambert. They’ll see or they’re idiots. Let’s play, hmm? Meet me in the hall?”

“Please,” Geralt added. “He’s been excited about the new music for weeks now.” Lambert nodded agreeably enough and stood up. Jaskier rose as well, and after a parting kiss, left Geralt with the dishes so he could walk with Lambert up to fetch music and instruments.

“You don’t like Varin,” Lambert noted, waiting in the doorway while Jaskier dug through their packs for the music.

“No, I don’t. He barged into the baths and made some comments. Geralt isn’t worried about him acting on them, but I’m not so sure.” Jaskier pulled the new music out with a triumphant little noise and grabbed his violin case. He passed the music to Lambert to review as they walked to the room he shared with Triss to fetch his harp.

“He likes making comments to piss people off. Thinks it’s funny.”

“Yes, I imagine he does. He also strikes me as the type to break someone else’s toy just because he didn’t have one, and then pass it off as a prank.”

Lambert hummed and nodded and tucked his harp under his arm. “Accurate. The less you react to him, the less shit he’ll pull.”

“I’m not worried about me. Me, he’ll just try to fuck, just to take me away from Geralt. And we all know that won’t happen. I did not like the way he spoke about Ciri, though. Geralt thinks he won’t touch her, but. She’s fourteen. More than old enough in some parts of the world to have been married by now. And I think Geralt forgets that.”

Lambert paused and gave him a hard look as they reached the top of the stairs. “I’ve seen my share of whores that are her age. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“I plan to have a word with Yennefer and Triss as well. I know they were really wanting to step up her magical training this winter, really put her through her paces. They’ll be spending a lot of time with her. Yennefer will fry him on the spot if he puts a toe out of line.”

“Triss would likely just curse him into something very improbable and impossible to break, even for a witcher,” Lambert mused.

“Good. Not that I think Geralt will really let him get that far, I just – I think he forgets that she’s not actually a child anymore. Old enough to bear children, and for some that’s good enough.”

“Don’t worry. Varin is a complete and total ass, but I doubt he’d step over that line. But we’ll break him into pieces and feed him to a wyvern if he does.” Lambert clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly and they continued downstairs.

When they reached the hall, they found that every inhabitant of the keep had already gathered. Lambert didn’t look thrilled, but Jaskier just set the music up and began to tune his violin. They played a couple of shorter, simpler pieces to warm up, then turned to the new music Jaskier had brought. Lambert had come a truly long way since Jaskier had first plunked the instrument in his lap, and save for a couple of missteps that any musician might make when first playing a new piece, went through the new music extremely well. All told, they played for about an hour by the time they were done.

Their small audience applauded – even Varin. Triss walked over as Lambert packed up his harp and gave him an approving kiss which had the tips of his ears turning red. Jaskier hid a grin and just finished putting away his violin. He was still burning to know how the pair met, but they were both absolutely silent on that topic. But Triss had appeared at Kaer Morhen at the beginning of the previous winter, and she hadn’t kept her own room for very long before she’d firmly moved in with Lambert. Lambert had spent the rest of that winter walking around with a poleaxed look on his face. Jaskier had done a lot of sighing and singing of love songs, and had even composed a couple just for the new pair.

Jaskier walked over to join the group clustered around the large fireplace. Varin had taken up the double seated couch that he and Geralt normally occupied, while Triss had laid claim to the other one. That had left just the single seat armchairs. Without a blink, Jaskier draped himself over Geralt’s lap, sighing as he relaxed into the arms that wound around him. Geralt placed a kiss on the side of his neck, making him shiver a little. Even after years together, Geralt’s touch never failed to heat his blood. He didn’t think it was possible to get to a point where it didn’t. He let his head rest on Geralt’s shoulder and just listened with half an ear as Ciri regaled everyone present with their adventures over the last month – in particular her own performance against the drowner. Yennefer was smiling indulgently, as was Triss, showing they’d probably heard it all already down in the baths. Lambert and Eskel managed to make approving noises, making Ciri beam with pride, while Vesemir just grunted. But then, that was his reaction to a lot of things, so it wasn’t odd. If he’d disapproved, he would say so, which Ciri had learned and so accepted the grunt the same way she accepted the praise.

She finally wound down and Jaskier started to think about dragging Geralt up to bed. One of the witchers spoke up – Berengar, Eskel had called him. “What of you, bard? What did you do while the girl and Geralt were off killing monsters? I have heard that you are a shapeshifter, somehow?”

Jaskier turned his head to meet his curious stare. “I am. I am not, however, much of a fighter. I stayed with the horses and the healing supplies, although they were not needed, thankfully.”

“So…what exactly do you bring to Geralt’s Path?” The man was curious and not condemning at all, which was the only reason Jaskier answered.

“I bring me. I bring my songs. I’m an extra hand for stitches, and the ability to shame stingy aldermen and mayors who try to stiff Geralt on his well earned coin. For some, I’m the easier one to speak to when they’re afraid of his grumpy face. I earn us extra coin to help keep our bellies full and decent beds under our backs at night, and good quality oats that aren’t molded for the horses.” He shrugged. “It’s worked for us for over twenty years, give or take.”

Berengar quirked an eyebrow at Geralt. “And that’s worth it?” He gestured. “Seems an awful lot of trouble, keeping one human safe, for just that.”

“It’s not. Jaskier has been an excellent traveling companion for a long time. Admittedly, he was green as hell when we met and couldn’t get a fire started to save his life, but.” Geralt shrugged. “He grew on me,” he finished, clearly teasing.

Jaskier sniffed haughtily. “Grew on you, indeed. I’ve been an absolute _delight_ from day one and you know it. **I** had to put up with your infrequent baths, your grunts that were meant to pass as conversation, your shocking inability to convey even the slimmest of details about your hunts. Really, I knew rocks that could hold better conversations! And yet I persevered, and here we are – you’re famous across the continent and almost never get chased out of villages anymore.”

“Come to think of it, that doesn’t happen to me that often anymore either,” the last witcher, Gweld, commented.

“You’ve all got Jaskier to thank for that,” Yennefer commented. “The most popular songs going around are almost entirely Jaskier’s, and they’re almost entirely about the heroism of witchers in general and Geralt in particular. In another generation, I doubt you’ll find much hatred for witchers left in the world at all.”

“And you managed all that with just this ugly brute for inspiration? Truly, you are a wonder!” Varin laughed.

He was the only one that laughed. Ciri narrowed her eyes at him. “Geralt isn’t ugly,” she snapped. “And he’s not a brute!”

“I was only teasing, my dear. Geralt is used to my sense of humor,” Varin assured her.

“Hmm, odd that. I thought humor was supposed to be funny,” Jaskier drawled.

“You wound me, songbird,” Varin mock-gasped.

“And I thought witchers were immune to the effects of aging on the mind, but clearly your memory is slipping. My name is Jaskier – use it.”

“So uptight! I thought bards were supposed to be fun loving.”

“And I thought witchers were supposed to be intelligent.”

They stared at each other. Jaskier was certain every witcher in the room could smell his anger. He wondered how angry Varin was. Judging by the frustrated look in his eyes, probably quite a bit.

“Oh, let’s not do this again,” Yennefer sighed. “I want a relaxing winter. Jaskier, please don’t write insulting songs about Varin. Varin, try to remember that most people don’t find insults funny. Ciri, you should get some sleep. We’ll be training hard starting tomorrow, and I want you well rested.”

Ciri nodded and got to her feet. She couldn’t leave without one last parting shot, though. “Being mean isn’t funny – it’s just mean. No one likes a jackass.”

Jaskier stifled a snort as she left the room, head tilted at a proud angle. Yennefer swept out with her, arm around her shoulders, head bent to whisper in her ear.

“I’m rather tired myself,” Jaskier commented. He brushed a kiss along Geralt’s jaw. “Staying up for a while?”

“Not tonight,” Geralt decided. He stood up with Jaskier cradled in his arms. Jaskier laughed cheerfully and waved goodnight to those remaining by the fire as Geralt carried him off.

~

Triss hummed lightly to herself, noting the way Varin watched Geralt carry Jaskier out with covetous eyes. She knew Lambert did not care for the black haired witcher. She wasn’t impressed either. Varin had attempted to flirt heavily with both herself and Yennefer the moment he had arrived, even after he discovered that she and Lambert were attached. He seemed truly baffled that neither of them had been interested in his so called charms. “Those two have been through much together,” she commented softly. “We’re all very fond of both of them.”

“Oh I’m sure. Jaskier is a feisty one, isn’t he? And incredible stamina, to keep up with a witcher.”

Aubry sighed and shook his head at Varin. “She’s saying don’t be an ass, you giant tit. You’d think after a century you’d have grown out of this phase by now, not doubled down on it. None of us want to deal with your typical bullshit, so knock it off!”

“Jaskier and the girl are off limits,” Lambert said. “Leave them be, Varin.”

“Can I help it if I find the boy interesting?” Varin protested.

“Interesting is one thing. Attempting to steal him away from Geralt is quite another,” Triss warned.

Varin, however, did not seem to get the warning. “Would it be my fault if he decides he’d like more amenable company? He deserves options.”

“Fuck off,” Lambert said succinctly.

“Enough,” Vesemir finally rumbled. “I’ll not put up with you boys squabbling like children any longer. Varin, leave Jaskier alone. Just because Geralt has a shiny new toy does not mean you are entitled to take it. I’ll have none of your old bullshit disturbing the keep.”

“You’re all very grumpy. I have no intentions of harming the bard.”

“Good! You’d all best get some rest. With so many here this winter, I think it’s an excellent opportunity to refresh all your training.” Vesemir’s steely gaze brooked no argument, and even Lambert got to his feet like a chastised schoolboy. Triss ignored the courtly arm that Varin offered her and tucked herself against Lambert’s side.

Varin would bear watching. He wasn’t the type to leave well enough alone – not when others had what he did not. Geralt and Jaskier had too much to do to fulfill their destinies – she would not see their lives made more difficult by a spoiled child.

~

Jaskier laughed breathlessly as Geralt nibbled on his neck, a light touch that tickled while it aroused. Geralt had yet to put him down. He didn’t often manhandle Jaskier around like that, but Jaskier thoroughly enjoyed when he did. Thoughts of annoying, entitled witchers were banished entirely as they reached their room and Jaskier fumbled with the handle to let them inside. He barely got it locked when he was pressed against the wall, held up entirely by Geralt’s strength as his witcher ravished his neck and collarbones. Jaskier tilted his head to rest against the wall, giving Geralt as much access as he could manage. “That feels so good, love,” he gasped, threading his fingers in Geralt’s hair to hold his head in place. “Gods, you always feel so good.” Geralt hummed as he worried at a particular patch of skin, teeth and tongue working to bring up a lovely mark that would take days to fade away. Jaskier tightened the grip of his legs around Geralt’s waist, rocking his hips to get a little friction on his cock. Geralt’s hands clamped down, stilling him. Jaskier whined a little in frustration.

Geralt lifted his head. “No, fluff. Tonight I plan to take my time with you,” he promised. Jaskier whined again, this time in anticipation. Geralt was so very good at taking his time.

Geralt walked them over to the bed, mouth once again finding Jaskier’s flesh to tease. He stripped them both efficiently, but left Jaskier in the too big shirt that he’d stolen. He tugged it up or to the side as he pleased to reach new parts of Jaskier with his mouth, feasting where he wished and leaving behind livid love bites. Jaskier twisted beneath him, caressing Geralt where he could reach, pushing up with his hips in search of friction for his cock. He was so hard it hurt, cock almost purple and leaking freely. Finally, after what seemed hours of delicious torture, an oil covered finger breached him, making him buck eagerly in anticipation. Geralt avoided his prostate, instead slowly stretching him, driving him ever higher with each slow drag of fingers inside him. By the time Geralt’s fingers were replaced by something rather more substantial, Jaskier was a sobbing, sweat soaked mess. Geralt’s hands gripped Jaskier’s hips, holding him in place as his hips moved at a torturously slow pace, pulling almost all the way out and then sliding back in just as slowly. Jaskier clawed at his arms and hands, desperate to get him to move faster, but Geralt just chuckled, low and throaty, and kept at the slow pace.

Jaskier pushed himself up off the bed until he could get his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and held them tightly pressed together, gaining sweet, blessed friction for his neglected cock. Geralt gave him a light smack on his bottom. “Naughty,” he growled.

“You fucking teasing bastard!” Jaskier gave him a good tug on his hair. “Stop torturing me and _fuck me_!”

Geralt nipped at his jaw and his ear. “You want to be fucked, fluff? Really?”

“Yes! For the love of all that’s holy, please!” Faster than humanly possible, Jaskier found himself lifted up and off and turned around into his knees, and then Geralt _slammed_ back inside him. It punched a short, sharp moan out of him and he braced his hands on the headboard. Geralt’s hands went tight enough to bruise on his hips, and then he let go, fucking into Jaskier hard and fast and deep, punching delirious moans out of his throat every time he bottomed out. He didn’t dare let go of the headboard, not even with just one hand, lest Geralt fuck him right into it. But he didn’t exactly need to. Geralt was hitting his sweet spot on every thrust, and it didn’t take long until he was falling over the edge, cock spurting so hard a couple drops hit his chin.

But Geralt didn’t stop. Jaskier heard him inhale deeply, and then he somehow managed to get faster, not seeming to care that Jaskier had dissolved into a twitching, over sensitized mess. “Beautiful, Jas. So fucking beautiful when you come. Do it again for me.” He reached down beneath Jaskier to palm his cock, running callused fingertips over his twitching, sticky prick.

“Oh… _fuck_.”

“Yes,” Geralt agreed. He leaned over to fasten his teeth into the meaty part of Jaskier’s shoulder and all Jaskier could do was hang on for the ride.

By the time they curled up to sleep, Jaskier was limp, sticky, and a bit sore. And he absolutely loved it. He glommed onto Geralt, arm over his chest and leg thrown over his thighs, head pillowed on his shoulder. “Love you, witcher-mine,” he slurred, already well on his way into sleep. He had no thoughts of irritating witchers or moody teen girls, just the haze of being held by the man he loved after being thoroughly ravished into a coma.

“Love you, fluff,” Geralt whispered back, sending the words with him down into sleep.

Waking was a delightfully slow and languorous process. He stretched and shifted and yawned, then nuzzled into the furry chest under his face, all without ever opening his eyes. When his thigh encountered Geralt’s morning erection, a slow smile spread over his face and he shifted again until he was laying full on his lover, chest to chest. He finally opened his eyes to meet Geralt’s, molten gold around blown wide pupils. He slid down a little and reached behind himself to grasp Geralt’s cock and line it up with his opening. Geralt stopped him from sliding down onto it with a grip on his hips. “You’re sore,” he rumbled.

“Not that sore, love.”

“Oil then.”

“I’m still wet and sloppy from last night. Hush, witcher-mine. I want it like this.” He pushed against Geralt’s grip until the tip of his cock slipped in. He paused like that, letting his body adjust. Then, in tiny, teasing increments, pushed down all the way. “Mmm.” His eyes closed and he sat upright, head tilted back. He clenched internal muscles, reveling in being so full.

Geralt shifted beneath him, sitting up so he could get his mouth on Jaskier again, lips trailing over all the marks he’d left the night before. Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair over and over, rocking his hips in a gentle rhythm that kept Geralt buried deep and slid his own cock against their bellies. When he spilled between them, it was with Geralt’s mouth attached to his nipple and his fingernails digging into Geralt’s shoulders. The clench of his body pulled Geralt over the edge with him, ensuring that his spend would be seeping out of him all day.

Geralt turned them over so that he was covering Jaskier and kissed him until he couldn’t breathe. With a bit of a shit eating grin, he finally lifted his head. “Ready to train this morning, fluff?”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he thumped Geralt on the shoulder. “You ass! No, I most assuredly am not. My plan was to spend the majority of the day right here in bed.” He stretched a bit and pulled a pillow more firmly under his head. “I’ll let you bring me breakfast, however.”

“Oh, will you allow me that?”

“I will,” Jaskier said grandly. “You may bring me bread and jam and, I think, apple juice.”

Geralt snorted out a laugh. “You might be able to spend all day in bed, but I assure you, I can _not_. I’m surprised Vesemir hasn’t already been pounding on the door. With so many of us here, he’ll want us training. He likes to put us through our paces, make sure we’re all keeping our skills sharp. And with Ciri to spend most of her time with Yennefer and Triss, that means more attention on the rest of us.”

“Ah. No rest for the wicked, I see.” Jaskier pushed a few silver strands back out of Geralt’s eyes. “Well then, I shall make the effort to stop by Triss and see if she’s got any chamomile on hand. Must take care of my witcher.”

Geralt caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “You do. You take very good care of me. It’s difficult to get used to, even now,” he admitted.

“Someday you will. I have made it my mission in life.” He leaned up for another kiss and sighed when Geralt eventually pulled away to get up. He followed, and they washed up reasonably well before dressing, Jaskier once again pulling on Geralt’s shirt. It had escaped the worst of the mess from the night before, but still smelled like them both, even to Jaskier’s nose. Geralt raised an eyebrow and moved in, hands sliding up beneath the fabric.

“You already smell like me. Must you wear that as well?”

“I must. I’d rather wear _you_ all day, but if we’ve duties to take care of, I will make do with this.”

“Hmm.” Geralt tucked his nose into his hair the way he liked to do. “Okay?”

He wasn’t talking about the hair thing. Jaskier stifled a sigh. “Yes, I – not that I don’t trust your word, but I’ve known too many people like Varin. That type makes me edgy. I want it crystal fucking clear that I’m yours and any advances or attempts to steal me away are futile and wholly unwelcome. I’m sure he’ll knock off the bullshit sooner rather than later, but.” He shrugged. He hadn’t even distrusted _Lambert_ so wholly on their first meeting. He’d known that Lambert would be far rougher than warranted or helpful if he’d allowed the man to help teach him that first winter, but he had not doubted that Lambert would defend Ciri or even himself in the face of monsters or enemies. He had no such faith in Varin, and that bothered him.

Geralt continued to nose at his hair for a few moments more, arms a comforting weight around his middle. “Okay,” he finally agreed. “You’ll tell me if he steps out of line.” It wasn’t a request but Jaskier nodded agreeably anyway. Geralt hummed a little, pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, and then guided him out so they could start their day.

After a quick breakfast, Geralt went out to go train and Jaskier wandered to Triss’ stillroom. He was a little surprised to see all three of the ladies there, having thought Ciri would be out with Yennefer. “Good morning,” he smiled as they looked up. “Will there be toxic fumes?”

“No,” Triss assured him. “Ciri is learning how to enhance potions with magic to increase their potency.”

“Oh lovely. Geralt informed me that the witchers are likely to be training rather hard this winter. I was wondering if you had any chamomile to hand?”

Triss nodded. “Some,” she said. “But this should also make an excellent practical demonstration. We’ll make some fresh that’s witcher strength.” She rattled off a list of ingredients for Ciri that had the girl scurrying around the room and dumping things on the table. Jaskier perched himself on a stool to watch, a little mesmerized by the way Ciri’s hands worked the ingredients, small and seeming delicate, but with obvious strength and confidence. She really had grown up so much. Before too awfully long, there was a pleasant smelling pot brewing, far nicer than the things Triss normally produced. Or Geralt, for that matter, with his noxious potions.

“Will this be safe enough for me to help apply?” he asked, leaning over to peer at the stuff in the pot.

Triss pushed him back. “Safe enough. It’s stronger, but it won’t melt your skin. You don’t want to inhale the fumes while it’s brewing, however. It could give you a nasty headache.”

He held up his hands peacefully. “Sorry, sorry, I should know better.”

“Honestly,” Ciri muttered, that eyeroll tone to her voice. Jaskier just grinned at her.

“Too right, sweeting. Can’t imagine what could have fuzzed my brain so badly.” His tone was far too innocent and Ciri saw right through him and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t say it, but he could definitely hear the ‘gross!’ going through her mind.

“You don’t seem to have taken a shine to the new witchers with us this winter,” Yennefer commented, diverting all of them.

Jaskier focused on her. “No. Or rather, I’m withholding judgement on the three, and very much wish the fourth had fucked off somewhere else.”

“He’s a jerk,” Ciri said emphatically. “It’s too bad he’s so handsome.”

Jaskier blinked at her. “Varin? Handsome? Uh, to each their own, I suppose. Not everyone has the impeccable taste of yours truly, a tragedy that can’t be helped.”

Yennefer snorted. “You don’t think he’s good looking?”

“Not even a little. He’s….oily. Shiny, like pig fat, and not the lovely shine of well polished gold.”

Yennefer and Triss traded a look while Ciri looked a little scandalized. “Jaskier, you can’t be serious? Those cheekbones! And his hair isn’t oily, it’s _shiny_.”

“Perhaps it’s just – _him_. I’d rather keep time with a viper.”

Triss nudged Ciri, who turned her attention back to the pot, stirring something else in and muttering under her breath. “You may be a bit biased,” Triss observed.

Jaskier met her eyes as intensely as he could, recalling the conversation in the baths, in particular the way he had spoken about Ciri. She just blinked, giving no indication as to whether she had read his thoughts. He would have to check later. “Perhaps,” he said to her spoken observation. “In any case, it’s a big castle. I’m sure I’ll be able to minimize time spent with him. Well, mostly. I _do_ intend to wander to a convenient window to watch them train. It’s not often I get to watch Geralt fight when his life isn’t actually on the line.”

“Ugh, you’ve been together so long, _why_ do you still act as though it’s your honeymoon?” Ciri complained.

“Sweeting, our courtship took something like twenty years. Our honeymoon should last _at least_ that long.”

“Courtship? Is that what you’re calling that?” Yennefer laughed.

“Oh be quiet, you. We’re hardly a conventional pairing, I don’t see why our courtship should have been conventional.” Jaskier threw a random berry from the table at her head. They had grown much easier with each other over time, largely thanks to Ciri, and had developed something like a friendship. They were both careful not to mention things like wishes or mind enslaving enchantments and were the better for it.

Triss tapped Ciri again, and the girl took the pot off the heat to let it cool into a thin paste, thicker than oil but not so thick as clay or wax. He watched her decant it into large vials – seven of them - and accepted the one that Triss passed over to him. “Lovely! If they end up as beat up as I think they will, this will come in handy for all of them. What else will you be learning this winter?”

“We started with the potions so that we could build up a good stock of healing items,” Yennefer explained. “When we’re done with that, we’ll be practicing combat magics. The valley is rife with monsters, and it will be good for her to learn to use the aggressive magics in real life. Since she’s proven so handy with a sword against them, that is.” She ruffled the girl’s hair approvingly.

“That sounds – burny. Why do I feel like fire will happen?”

“Because fire will happen – along with a few other nasty little spells,” Yennefer confirmed.

“Some monsters are resistant to magic, are they not?”

“Yes. We won’t be seeking those out just yet. The idea is to get used to casting the offensive spells against actual dangerous targets. It’s one thing to practice against non-living dummy targets, another to do so with something wanting to eat you bearing down on you. Most freeze, the first time.”

“I won’t!” Ciri declared.

“Perhaps not. But you shan’t have an audience for that outside of the ladies here, so the rest of us will never know if you do,” Jaskier assured her. She glared at him and he just stared steadily back. “I got stage fright the first time I formally performed in front of an audience – in spite of numerous impromptu performances since I was a child and dreaming of just that happening for the better part of my life. I got over it quickly, but it still happened. So cut yourself some slack, sweeting, and don’t beat yourself up too hard if you freeze for a few seconds the first time.”

“I didn’t freeze with the drowner, did I?” she demanded.

“Nope. But if Yennefer says magic is different, who am I to say it’s the same as a sword?”

Ciri just kept glaring at him and he just stared back, unperturbed. Eventually, the girl gave up with a snort and turned her attention to the next potion on the agenda. Yennefer drew a stool up to his side and sank onto it, letting Triss field the lesson for the most part. “I am not terribly impressed with Varin either,” she observed quietly.

“Good. I expect we’ll all be keeping a close eye on him to make sure he doesn’t get too out of hand.”

“Hmm,” she agreed. Then she changed the topic. “There is a mid-winter festival, in Toussaint. Do you know it?”

“Uh, right at mid-winter? With the dancing and bonfires and music? Gee, never heard of it before.”

She smacked his arm without ever taking her eyes off the lesson. “Yes, you tit. I was thinking of taking Ciri this year, if she does well.” Had Ciri been a cat, her ears would have swiveled in their direction.

“Oh, that could be great fun! I haven’t been since…oh, I think I was twenty-two at the time? It’s a bit hazy, mostly from the mulled wine.”

“And what color did you wear?” she asked teasingly.

“Black, of course. I did not have accompaniment then. Hmm, I shall look _delicious_ in gold.”

“What does that mean?” Ciri demanded, no longer able to resist.

Jaskier grinned at her. “Last interruption, sweeting, and then it’s to your lessons or we shan’t be able to attend, understand?” She nodded eagerly. “The mid-winter festival in Toussaint is rather famous. And old. It’s held on the longest night of the year and began as a way to bring back the sun and morphed into a fertility celebration. And not just of reproduction, but fertility in all things – harvest, money, career, war, whatever anyone has a burning desire for _more_ of. When you attend and perform the dances, you’re meant to keep in your heart that which you want to increase. For many, yes, it’s for children. When I attended, I was at the beginning of my career, and so that is what I was focused on – more creativity, more lyrics and music, success. Someone your age might focus on love in general, perhaps, hoping for a fulfilling romance. If we can talk the witchers into attending, they might focus on greater success in their contracts – better purses, fewer injuries. But regardless, when you attend, the color of your clothing means something. You, young and unattached, would wear white. Your escort, usually a male, would also wear white, indicating that there is no romantic or sexual component to your relationship. It would usually be a family member. Yennefer can be your escort easily enough, it’s not _required_ that it be someone of the opposite gender anymore. That’s just tradition. Geralt would wear blue to match my eyes, and as a pairing, it would be assumed that we danced for similar fruitful goals.”

“If you’re unattached but looking, you wear black,” Yennefer picked up the explanation. “A mix of black and white means unattached but not looking, either. It’s thought that dancing with another person of similar interests increases the power of the dance, increases the chances of the gods blessing your desires, so unattached people will usually look for others to dance with. It isn’t a terribly serious ritual any longer, and there’s not much actual power in it at all. But it is fun.”

“Can we really go?”

“That’s up to Yennefer and Triss. Although if it’s looking likely, we’ll have to teach you the dances.” Jaskier paused thoughtfully and then glanced at Yennefer. “What are the odds that Geralt knows the dances?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Are you seriously asking that?”

“Right right – well, that will be a fun conversation.” He brightened. “It _does_ give me leverage to get him into a color besides black, though. He’ll look good in blue.”

“It’s a moot point, however, if our lessons do not progress well,” Triss said crisply. “Now shoo, Jaskier – you’re distracting.”

Jaskier gave her an unrepentant grin. “Yes, ma’am – Lambert will look good in green though!”

“I highly doubt that you’ll get him to agree to go!”

Jaskier gave her an interested look. “Is – is that a challenge? I _did_ get the man to not only admit to liking harp music, but to learn how to play it himself.”

“In private. This would be dancing in public – a wholly different creature.”

“Oh, well, I can hardly resist that, now can I? Ciri, sweeting, do me the favor of really kicking ass at your lessons? I absolutely do not want to give any of the witchers an excuse to bow out, least of all Lambert and Geralt.” He leaned across the table and bussed her noisily on the cheek. She laughed at him as he trotted out, bottle of chamomile salve in his hands.

After stowing the bottle in their room for later, Jaskier wandered out and up onto one of the castle walls that offered a good view of the training grounds below with his violin. He winced once he got a good look at the action – the witchers were _not_ holding back, save for pulling killing or maiming blows. Geralt would be bruised at the very least. It was still a lovely view, though, and he was pleased to see that Varin was notably getting his ass kicked, facing off against Eskel. Humming a little, he tuned his violin and set his fingers to some old songs. They were not of his composition, nor that of any living person, but were the traditional songs played at midwinter. It would be good to refresh his memory of the songs and rhythms before he tried teaching the steps to the most likely extremely reluctant witchers he planned to drag along. More than once he saw the witchers below look up at him, although he was too far to see what expressions they might be wearing.

The part that he had left out of the brief explanation for Ciri was that the festival tended to run towards the sensual. Those underage would only be allowed to stay up the actual night of the solstice, and then only until midnight at the latest. For the adults, sex was almost expected, although there would be the king’s guard patrolling to make certain revelers didn’t get out of hand. Anyone caught attempting to force another were always dealt with extremely harshly, as doing so was not simply illegal, but an offense to the gods themselves. Still, it was common to find couples behind every haystack and tree, and he planned to make sure that Yennefer or Triss put some kind of spell to block sounds on the tent that Ciri would be in.

When the cold started to irritate his fingers, he finally went back inside, leaving the witchers to beat each other to a pulp under Vesemir’s stern gaze. He packed away his instrument and went to spend a bit of time in the kitchen. Making sure the witchers were well fed would improve their overall mood, and he was going to pull out every trick he could think of to get their agreement. Ciri herself would be a powerful weapon, but softening the targets never hurt.

When the witchers finally broke for the day, it was nearly dinner time. They all went down for a quick wash, and then appeared en masse in the dining room as Jaskier brought out the food. He’d made several roasts, fresh rolls, and heaps of steamed vegetables. Even Ciri, used to witcher appetites, seemed a little startled at the way the witchers fell on the food like starving wolves. Jaskier had seen Geralt eat after prolonged, difficult battles before, and he’d had a good idea what to expect. It was still something else altogether to see food enough for more than a dozen people consumed by just seven. The bottles of chamomile were handed out and greeted with profuse thanks that got louder when it was revealed that Ciri had made them. She colored a little under the praise but beamed proudly.

The crowning touch were the apple pies he had made. He was by no means an expert chef or baker, but one winter of plain, unseasoned food had been more than enough, and he had made it a personal goal to improve the quality of the offerings. He was fairly pleased with his skills, and though a private, petty part of him wanted to withhold at least dessert from Varin, he brought out the pies and let everyone dig in as they wished – no need to exacerbate any issues already. And Varin, at least, was too tired to get up to much more than some half-hearted flirting over the food that Jaskier easily ignored.

No one was overly interested in music that evening, especially when Vesemir made a few comments about deplorable stamina all the way around. Jaskier thought he was being a little harsh – once the food and ale had been consumed, all the witchers had noticeably perked up. But he would gladly take the excuse to tug Geralt up to their room and spread him out in front of the fire to work the chamomile deep into his bruises. They would all be gone by morning, but the chamomile would definitely mean he slept easier.

Once he had Geralt a boneless puddle, he wiped his hands off and shifted so he could comb his lover’s hair. It didn’t really need it, but they both liked it. “So Yennefer had an idea for midwinter,” he started.

“Ah. That would explain the music this morning.”

“You recognized the songs?”

“Some. I don’t winter among humans, but I was stuck, oh, about thirty years back or so in Toussaint. Had to break a curse for a minor lord, and by the time it was done, the roads were too bad to risk Roach on. Rather than coin, he put me up in a room in a house at the edge of Beauclair. I could hear a great deal, even inside.”

“Hmm.” Rather shitty, to have to hear the revelry but not feel able to attend. “Well, Yennefer would like to take Ciri to the festival. Provided she does well enough with her lessons between now and then.”

Geralt cracked an eye. “You want us all to go.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not certain witchers would be welcome at a fertility celebration.”

“It’s more than just reproductive fertility these days, witcher-mine. People go hoping for fruitful, well, _everything_. I went when I was younger hoping for a fruitful career.”

Geralt caught his hand to kiss his fingertips. “Your career has been made on your talent, not because you danced around a fire.”

“I know – the point is really the fun. We want to take Ciri for the experience. I want to go with _you_ so I can dance with my lover, get tipsy on mulled wine, and maybe have a tumble behind a bale of hay.”

“Hmm. I’ll think about it,” Geralt promised.

“Thank you.” No point in pushing. If Geralt wasn’t comfortable, or at least willing, then pushing him into it wouldn’t be fun. He’d be stiff and miserable all night, and that was the opposite of what Jaskier wanted.

Geralt kept hold of his hand and started kissing his wrist. Jaskier’s breath caught, and there was no more discussion for the night.

The first couple of days of the intensive training were the worst. Witchers’ didn’t really lose their skill, and their physical condition didn’t deteriorate like a human’s would with idleness, so they weren’t precisely rusty or out of shape. Once into their old routines (mostly – Geralt, and to an extent Lambert as well, was not willing to rise from their shared bed at an ungodly early hour, though they made up for that with extra effort once they did get there) they weren’t as sore or tired in the evenings. Jaskier and Ciri played most evenings, and sometimes Lambert took a turn with Jaskier on the violin for softer stuff.

For his part, Jaskier returned to his ongoing, self-imposed task of creating teaching songs about the actual facts of the monsters that roamed the world. He had several already floating around about some of the more common creatures out there. It was too soon to tell if they were having a positive effect yet, but he still had hopes.

After a few weeks, the witchers’ training eased off to just the mornings, with Vesemir satisfied they were all still as sharp as he could make them. Ciri spent the first hour of the day with the witchers to keep up her weapons’ skills, and the rest of the day with Yennefer and Triss. Twice, Triss snagged Lambert to accompany them on ingredient fetching tasks, for some of the more vile things that were used.

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to ask what they needed alghoul bile for, and just prayed it was for something that would never be used for _him_. He didn’t know what the bile looked like, but he had deep suspicions since Geralt never passed up a chance to kill an alghoul. Jaskier wasn’t allowed on those hunts, but he remembered Geralt taking empty vials with him a couple times.

Of course, that also meant that Varin had more time and energy to grow bored and start sniffing around where he wasn’t wanted. After the first time he caught Jaskier in the library and attempted to rather heavy-handedly flirt with him, Jaskier made sure to do as much of his work in his and Geralt’s room as he could. He wouldn’t go to the baths unless he was guaranteed to be alone or with Geralt – just the thought of Varin ogling him made his skin crawl.

He brought up the festival at dinner a couple months after the topic was first broached. That gave Geralt plenty of time to consider, and Ciri plenty of time to really work her ass off with Yennefer. And it still left time to teach the dances to whoever would attend.

“So Yen, Triss, how are Ciri’s lessons going?” he asked casually, sipping his ale like the matter was of very little importance.

The two women exchanged looks. “Quite well,” Yennefer said. “If she keeps up as she’s been doing so far, I think the festival is a sure thing.”

Ciri bounced in her seat, grinning. “I am! I mean I will! Jaskier, are you going to perform?”

“No, sweeting. The performers for the festival are generally booked at least a year in advance. Besides, I do enjoy getting to join in the dancing part of things every once in a while.” He cast a flirtatious look at Geralt. “Have you given any thought as to whether you’d like to join me – us?” he corrected.

“Wait, what festival is this?” Eskel wondered.

“The midwinter festival in Toussaint. It’s a whole lot of fun, and I think we’d all enjoy attending. I **know** Ciri will!”

“I’ve heard of it,” Eskel said. “Can’t say I’ve ever had cause to go to a fertility festival though.”

Jaskier shook his head. “It isn’t just fertility in the traditional sense. For one, it’s not really a serious ritual. For another, people go hoping for good harvests, good trade, success of all kinds, really. Well, and the excuse for some rather, hmm, _interesting_ dances with their partners or partners they find at the festival.”

Geralt frowned. “And…you want Ciri to dance at this?”

“The dances for the children are more traditional,” Yennefer assured him. “She is not yet of age to participate in the adult dances, at least while she is not married or at least betrothed. Jaskier, shall we demonstrate?”

Jaskier nodded and stood up. He moved with Yennefer away from the table and gave her a little bow, then started whistling one of the simpler tunes that could be expected at the childrens’ dancing. There was some physical contact, but just in the form of clasped hands as they moved together and apart around an imaginary bonfire. They finished with another bow and turned back to the watchers. “The dances for the adults are most definitely on the sensual side, as the origins were a fertility ritual meant to bring life back to the land and the people.” He cast a teasing look at Ciri. “We’ll save the demonstration of those for another time.”

“I’m hardly a child!” Ciri pouted.

“No, dearest, you are not. But you are not yet an adult, and you shouldn’t rush to be one,” Yennefer told her. “Enjoy life as it comes – don’t be in such a rush to skip over bits of it. The festival will still be held when you reach your majority.” It had the sound of advice given more than once, and Ciri’s heavy sigh said she was getting a little tired of hearing it.

“In any case, the _days_ are about the same for everyone, with games and entertainment similar to a country fair. There will be plenty of food and drink. The bonfires and the dancing begin at sundown. Those underage are to be in their tents or inns by midnight to allow the adult dances – and whatever other activities – to go on without fear of mistaking someone not quite old enough as an appropriate partner. The kings’ guard regularly patrol the festival to make sure drunken idiots don’t get out of hand. Not,” he added with a nod at Yennefer, “that Ciri would be in any danger with her escorts on hand. And she certainly could defend herself if something happened and she got separated.” Ciri nodded once, satisfied with that acknowledgement.

Geralt heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I had better come along – the gods only know what kind of trouble you’d get into on your own!”

Jaskier laughed, delighted, and slid back into his seat beside his lover for a long kiss. “You’ll have fun,” he promised when they parted. “Wine and food and dancing, and no nobles to speak of!”

“Bit of a shame that you won’t be able to dance together though,” Varin commented, not sounding in the least sorry.

Jaskier raised a cool eyebrow at him. “And why would that be?”

“Two men together – you’ll both be dancing the men’s parts,” he pointed out. “Outside of the children’s dances, they don’t allow men to dance women’s parts or women to dance the men’s.”

“Not an issue,” Jaskier dismissed. He turned his attention to Eskel. “Would you want to come? It’s not uncommon for younglings to have more than one escort. And the festival lasts a week – the best dances are the night of the solstice, but it’s not like the other nights suck. We can all take turns with going out and staying in with Ciri.”

Eskel nodded agreeably, as Jaskier suspected he would. “Not sure I would have risked it ten or fifteen years ago, but Toussaint has been downright cordial these last few years, even in the smaller villages. It shouldn’t cause much of a stir.”

Jaskier grinned cheerfully and looked around at the rest. “Anyone else? Lambert, Triss, you two in the mood for some energetic dancing and equally energetic, ah, snuggling in the shadows?”

“You make it sound like an orgy,” Lambert grumbled. But he kept casting little speculative looks towards Triss.

“Not at all – well. I wouldn’t be shocked to find a couple going on, but they’d be by invitation only, so you simply need not accept if you’re invited. Nope, just food, wine, and dancing with your lady.”

“I’ll think about it,” he allowed.

Jaskier stifled the urge to pump his fist triumphantly. “Anyone else? You can attend as someone looking, or just someone there to have fun. Yen and I will handle the clothes that signal which you’re interested in.”

Varin agreed right away, and Aubry a moment later. Gweld was on the fence and Berengar declined. Vesemir just gave him a disgruntled look which Jaskier took to mean he was silly for even wondering. “Lovely! It’ll be a nice bit of a break in the middle of the winter. Provided Ciri keeps up at her current outstanding efforts.”

“Ugh, I get it! I haven’t slacked off even _once_ ,” Ciri grumbled.

“Can you blame me for being nervous? I really want to attend this thing too, you know! But since I have every faith in you, we’ll start learning the dances in the evenings after dinner.” He looked around at the witchers. “I’ll teach the men’s dances to all of you before dinner. I don’t expect you’ll find it difficult.”

“Well, for some of us, anyway. Not all of us are equally agile,” Varin murmured, eyes just barely flicking at Geralt.

“Oh don’t worry,” Jaskier said breezily, “you can always stick to the simpler sets. I’ll save the truly complicated dances for Geralt and the others.” He tucked back into his food like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Geralt squeezed his knee under the table.

“I’ll join you,” Triss volunteered calmly. “Many of the dances are easier to learn when there’s someone dancing the female side, and Jaskier can’t dance with _all_ of you.” Lambert immediately looked far more interested.

“Do you _know_ the female side?” Aubry asked.

“Of course. I’ve been fully trained – I know the traditional dances of every country, along with all the etiquette for all the various courts. Oh, I’m sure there’s small, local country dances that I won’t necessarily know all the variants to, but I know the major cultural and regional ones. Instruction in such matters for royal and noble children often falls on the tutor and/or court bard, so.” He shrugged. Then he grinned. “I can’t say I’m a fan of Nilfgaard, but go down south enough in their empire and their women have some _truly_ inspiring dances. Must be something about the heat.”

“Oh really?” Eskel perked up. “I’ve heard rumors, but I’ve never been that far south – they’ve schools of their own down there so. Care to demonstrate?”

“Of course – for Geralt,” he said primly. Eskel groaned in mock disappointment.

Ciri’s dance lessons began that night after the meal was done and the dishes all whisked away to be cleaned. She was nimble and agile and easily picked up the steps. By the time they went to the festival, she would be dancing like she’d been doing it since she was a babe.

The witchers’ lessons started the next afternoon. Triss somewhat took charge. Jaskier would demonstrate with her, moving slow so that those watching could easily follow what they were both doing. Then he would play while Triss partnered each in turn to give them a chance to practice. Lambert tended to glare when anyone except Geralt was partnering her, and apparently even Varin was smart enough to not try to get handsy with her. As with all things physical, they picked up the steps with ease and simply needed the practice to make sure they had the steps memorized and feel comfortable.

As the festival drew closer, Jaskier, with Triss’ help, polled the other witchers attending as to what color clothing they would be interested in wearing. Rather, Triss asked Varin, while Jaskier asked Aubry and Eskel. Gweld had learned the dances, but had decided that he didn’t really care to go. Eskel would of course wear white while escorting Ciri, but during the night when she was safely tucked in the tent, he opted for black. Aubry, as not an official escort, would be wearing all black for the week.

Triss looked vaguely irritated when she returned from her conversation with Varin, but informed him that the man would be wearing black as well. He decided he would probably be happier not knowing what had made the usually unruffled Triss actually look annoyed.

Since the mages could both alter color and fit of whatever clothing they chose (and Jaskier suspected could probably just conjure up clothes at their whim) Jaskier happily dug into the pile of coin still leftover from his concert to go shopping with Yennefer. Geralt looked slightly pained when he was presented with the blue silk shirt and pants but agreed that the color was a dead match for Jaskier’s eyes.

He also warned that it was a one time deal for the festival and Jaskier shouldn’t get used to it, but it was a start.

Jaskier’s own outfit was a stunning gold that would stand out. Humans just didn’t have gold eyes, and with Lambert’s amber color on Triss, the two of them would draw quite a bit of attention.

When the time for the festival actually arrived, Ciri was absolutely glowing. He had no clue what sorts of things they’d really been working on, but Yennefer said she’d been nailing it, so he felt she rather deserved the break. All the attendees gathered in the Great Hall with a few small bags packed with spare clothing and odds and ends. There was, a little worryingly, no tent. Yennefer just gave him a toothy smile when he pointed that out and opened the portal.

The festival was staged outside Beauclaire every year. The inns in the city would no doubt be utterly packed, and thousands more camped as best they could around the festival grounds. Yennefer’s portal brought them to just outside the camping area where they were unlikely to be seen. She took Ciri’s hand and led them all towards mass of people gathered. People would have arrived sometimes a month in advance to stake out the best areas for their tents, and as Yennefer and Ciri led them through the maze of people and tents of all sizes, Jaskier found that they had evidently done so themselves. Yennefer lifted the flap of an extremely large tent to usher them all inside.

Jaskier looked around. It was, naturally, much bigger on the inside. It also featured ‘rooms’, smaller sleeping sections partitioned off from all the others and the main area of the tent. The main room featured soft seating and a wide brazier to add to the enchanted warmth.

“The tent is warded against intruders, of course. And each room has spells to muffle sound so that we needn’t be disturbed by revelers,” Yennefer said casually. “I would warn you, however, that only the people currently inside this tent can get in. Anyone else attempting to do so will trigger a trap, so if you meet anyone you’d like to keep company with – go to their tent, rather than bringing them back here. There is a bathing chamber through that last doorway.”

“This is fantastic!” Jaskier enthused. “Ciri, did you help with the enchantments?”

The girl lifted her head proudly. “I did them all!”

Geralt smiled down at her and pulled her into a quick hug. “Amazing job, Ciri – I’m proud of you.”

She grinned back up at him. “Thanks, Geralt.” For once, there was no eyeroll audible in her tone.

“We should go get changed so we can start exploring the festival,” Triss suggested. She gestured to Ciri and Jaskier. “I want to do something with your hair, Jaskier, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He leaned up slightly for a quick kiss. “Be back in a few, love.” Humming cheerfully, he followed the ladies into one of the rooms and tied the door shut behind himself.

~

Geralt picked one of the rooms at random and placed his pack inside. He changed quickly, feeling frankly rather strange to be wearing such a bright color. But it really was an almost perfect match to Jaskier’s eyes, and he did rather like the idea of such a blatant mark of claiming on both of them.

He was done changing well before Jaskier and the ladies were and stepped out to the main room to wait. Varin smoothed his black shirt, preening a little. Geralt ignored him to help Lambert straighten his out.

“Thin as fuck,” Lambert grumbled. “Wouldn’t protect against a mosquito.”

“Not supposed to,” Geralt agreed mildly. “Triss will like it,” he added, as that was the more important part. Witchers preferred function over form, but Jaskier – and to an extent, the mages – did enjoy dressing up for things, and Jaskier definitely enjoyed seeing him in clothing made of other materials besides leather. Wearing a bit of fancy, otherwise useless cloth was a small enough thing to do to put a smile on his lover’s face. “I’m surprised you agreed to come.”

Lambert shrugged. “I like food and wine, and Triss likes to dance. Not much call for dancing at Kaer Morhen.”

“A small thing to make her smile,” Geralt said, smiling a little. Being in love was a good look for his brother. He was just waiting for the other man to realize that’s what it was.

“Ugh, you two are so damned sappy,” Eskel grumbled, straightening his own white shirt. “If it weren’t for the mutagens, my teeth would have rotted by now.”

“Fuck you, I can still take you any day,” Lambert shot back without heat.

Before the pair could fall to wrestling, there was a rustle at the curtain where the ladies were changing. Geralt looked expectantly over. Ciri stepped out, a vision in a lovely white dress. If they had not dyed her hair and skin, she would be breathtakingly lovely. Even with the darker hair and skin, she was amazing, and Geralt had to swallow something down when he was hit by the fact that she was growing up – closer to a woman now than a girl. The dress hugged her torso, with a modest neckline that still hinted at the bosom beneath. The sleeves were fitted down her arms, ending in a bit of lace at her wrists, and the skirts swirled around her legs as she walked. There was a net of some kind with crystals that winked in the firelight over her braided hair.

Geralt crossed the room and gave a little bow over her hand. “You look lovely, Ciri.” She gave him a little curtsy in return and then grinned. “Yen and I magicked the clothes so they wouldn’t get dirty and torn – I forgot how fragile silk was!”

Next out was Triss, radiant in an amber gown that was a good match to Lambert’s eyes. Lambert almost swallowed his tongue, and every witcher in the tent could smell both his sudden lust and his possessiveness. And the love swirling under all that, like warmed cider. Triss was her typical serene self, but not even she could control her own scent as she took in Lambert dressed in her color, and her own lust, possessiveness, and love scents rose to mingle with Lambert’s.

Honestly, Geralt could understand how this was a fertility festival initially. He just wasn’t sure how it had evolved _away_ from that.

Yennefer wore a white gown very similar to Ciri’s, skirts fluttering around her ankles as she strode out. She, Eskel, and Ciri would cut quite the picture out in the crowds.

He looked up expectantly as the cloth rustled again and then caught his breath when Jaskier – in her female form – stepped out. Her dress was a bit different from the others. Her skirt had more material that flared out from her hips. The top was fitted and molded to her breasts, but stopped well short of the modest neckline of Ciri or even Triss. Her shoulders were bared, and the cuffs widened at her forearms to hang long and loose, and would swirl dramatical as she danced. Her hair was in some kind of complicated knot, decorated with tiny golden flowers.

The color was almost magically identical to Geralt’s eyes.

The stink of Varin’s sudden lust almost made him turn and snarl. He _did_ cast a warning glare to the man, whose expression was at least somewhat schooled even if his scent was _not_.

“Shapeshifter,” Varin breathed, ignoring Geralt. “I had not considered…can you look like _anyone_?”

Jaskier frowned at him and moved to Geralt’s side. “I would not know. I do not attempt faces that aren’t my own.”

“But you can change into a woman at will. Have you considered what you can do with this ability? I mean truly considered?” He actually dared to walk closer, and from the corner of his eye, Geralt could see his other brothers tensing. And rightfully so, because if Varin actually dared to lay a hand on Jaskier while stinking like he did, Geralt would most certainly rip said hand from his body, no blade required. “Imagine if your breasts were fuller – “ He got no further as just that was enough to make Geralt punch him.

Varin staggered back and landed on his ass. The stink of lust morphed into the stink of rage, but Varin’s expression was cool when he looked up. “Honestly, Geralt. I can see why the bard has had such a difficult time repairing your reputation.”

Aubry hauled him to his feet and shook him a little. “Knock it off, you complete and total ass,” he hissed. “You’re out of line and you fucking know it. Now behave, or I’m sure one of our resident mages will be glad to toss your ass back to Kaer Morhen and not care how you land.”

“I need the practice,” Ciri volunteered. “You shouldn’t talk about Jaskier like that. She isn’t some – some _customizable toy._ Don’t be a pig!”

Varin drew breath to respond but Eskel stepped between them. “Enough. Varin, go out and enjoy the festival. Perhaps someone out there will find you amusing enough to bed and you can get this attitude out of your system.”

Varin shook off Aubry’s grip, smoothed his shirt, and stalked out of the tent. Yennefer walked over to the room Geralt had chosen and laid her hand on the door flap. It glowed briefly and all three mages nodded in satisfaction. “There – now only the pair of you can enter that room. Hopefully he’ll find someone without much discrimination to get out his excess energy with, but if not, you needn’t worry about him getting in there to annoy you or mess with your things. Now come, let’s just enjoy the festival.”

“Yes please,” Jaskier said firmly. She linked her arm through Geralt’s and gave it a little squeeze. “Try not to think of him, love. Food, wine, and dancing await!”

Geralt shoved the anger to the back and nodded. Yennefer lifted the lid on a spacious trunk and started pulling out cloaks – color coordinated, of course. Geralt had to admit, as he fastened Jaskier’s cloak around her shoulders, that they all made very striking figures rather than the ridiculous caricatures that he had privately feared. And she really _did_ look good wearing his color. No one would mistake her for a free agent.

Jaskier was all but vibrating with excitement as they stepped out of the tent and made their way to the festival grounds proper. The giant bonfires were not yet lit, but that didn’t stop musicians from playing near them, nor the people from dancing near them. Tents were set up every few hundred feet selling food and drink, and a little off to the side a kind of market had been set up with sellers of all varieties of wares doing brisk business. Couples walked around, much as he and Jaskier were, and still others dressed in black sought each other out with glances and flirtatious looks. Children, dressed at least partially in white, depending on what their family could afford, ran freely, laughing as they played some strange games of their own.

Aubry quickly went off on his own while the rest of them remained together. Ciri was wide eyed and breathless as she charged through the crowd, barely able to stop for a few seconds to listen to this music group or watch that acrobat tumbling before her enthusiasm and boundless curiosity pulled her in a new direction. Geralt remained tense for the first couple of hours. In spite of all Jaskier had done to improve his reputation and general reception, he was painfully aware of how they stood out – how **he** stood out – and couldn’t help keeping alert for the first sign that he was not welcome at such an event. They _did_ garner looks, and he saw more than one person realize what he was and look startled, but after a few hours he started to relax. No one had seemed terribly angry or outraged. Perhaps they thought he was a paid bodyguard for Ciri, who certainly appeared to be the spoiled daughter of wealthy parents. Eskel, with his light brown hair, definitely blended in better than he did, and dressed in white as he and Yen were, there were no glaring clues about unusual eye color to draw extra notice.

They paused to buy lunch around midday, managing to wrangle seating at the end of one of the tables set at random for the purpose. Elbows brushed, but at least they wouldn’t have to sit on the packed and dirty snow. Ciri tore into her turkey leg with gusto and somehow still managed to chatter around the mouthful as she chewed. Jaskier and the mages fielded most of her questions, since many of them Geralt and Eskel really had no clue about. As they finished up their food, her eyes turned towards the market.

“I haven’t been shopping in ages,” she said, with just a hint of wistfulness to her tone. Had her scent not held a trace of that old grief, Geralt would have thought it calculated.

“There’s no reason we can’t go look,” Jaskier offered cheerfully. She jingled her coin purse lightly. “But be careful. Fairs and festivals are a prime time for craftsmen to sell off their more poorly made things. The wine tends to add a shine to even the dullest of tin.”

“Well, I don’t actually _need_ anything,” Ciri protested, but it was obvious her heart wasn’t in it.

Jaskier laughed cheerfully. “So what? Sometimes, it’s nice to buy something because you like it, not because you _need_ it. One can’t always afford to, but that concert really did pay extremely well. And Geralt’s contracts were pretty damned fruitful too. We’ve enough for a trinket or two.”

Ciri looked to him a little anxiously so he nodded agreeably. He had his own purse on him should she want something on the more expensive side, and he was certain Yennefer would just flat out enchant a merchant into forking something over for the girl if she wanted something more expensive than what they could afford with their ready coin – not that he approved of that, but Yen’s ethics were sketchy at best and non-existent when it came to Ciri.

Excited all over again, Ciri pulled them to their feet and made a beeline towards the market area, a hand clamped to both Yen and Jaskier’s wrists. Bemused, Geralt and the others followed at a more sedate pace. “It’s good to see her so excited,” Triss murmured. “She has been very driven – not just these last weeks, but since I have known her. It’s good to see her relax and have fun.”

Geralt nodded. “We can thank Jaskier for that. We didn’t even realize how we stifled her, when she first came to us. It took him all of a few minutes to see what we were doing and give us hell for it,” he admitted.

“I bet. Jaskier is not one to keep silent on matters of the heart.” Her look turned teasing. “So life is not just monsters and money these days, not even for you.”

“It was simpler,” he defended himself. Jaskier bright laugh made him smile involuntarily, prompting Triss to laugh in his face. “Simpler,” he repeated. “But emptier.”

Triss laughed again. “Your bard has had a remarkable effect on all of you, really. Even on Yen, though I am sure she would not admit it.”

“My bard is remarkable all the way around.”

“You’re besotted, Geralt,” Lambert scoffed, though his eyes were teasing.

Geralt rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at Triss. Lambert just shrugged and grinned.

“The lot of you are soppy and disgusting,” Eskel declared. “Oh hell, she found a blacksmith,” he said, diverting their attention. “Best make sure she knows what she’s looking at there. Don’t want her buying something useless just because it’s sparkly.” Eskel hurried forward to where the three ladies were gathered at a stall, and Ciri seemed to be eyeing a very decorative, but probably useless, dagger.

Geralt himself was distracted by another stall that glinted in the weak winter sunlight. He slipped away from Triss and Lambert so he could get a closer look. Ciri certainly deserved something pretty and fine, though he would probably enlist Yennefer into checking his choice out before he committed, since she would know more about jewelry than he did. He noted a few pieces for her, but then his attention was caught some intricate engraving on some of the pieces. It was very finely done, and the images incredibly detailed.

“Looking for yourself or for a gift?” the jeweler asked.

“A gift,” Geralt answered. “Do you do the engraving yourself?”

“Yes indeed, for the most part. My apprentice is coming along quite well, however, so if my work is not in your price range, perhaps hers will be. I assure you, she is a fine artist. These are hers.” He gestured at a selection of wide cuffs engraved with flowers. They were well enough done, but even Geralt could tell they were not the work of a master – not yet.

“Hmm.” Geralt examined what was on display. Nothing was quite right. “Do you do custom work?”

“I do – for a price. What did you have in mind?”

Geralt pointed at an oval pendant that had the image of a falcon on it. It was big enough not to stand out on a man but small enough that it wouldn’t be out of place on a woman. “Something like this, but with engraving on both sides.”

“Ah, you’re wanting lovers’ tokens, eh?” The jeweler’s eyes caught his and flicked down to where his medallion peeked out of his shirt. He seemed a little surprised, but his scent didn’t change to anger or disgust, and he just moved smoothly on with the sale. “Just one, or a matched pair?”

“A matched pair,” Triss said, coming up to his side. She squeezed his arm briefly. “Trust me, she will prefer that.”

Geralt considered that and then nodded agreement. “Yes, a matched pair. Wolf on one side, cat on the other. Silver,” he added. Gold was pretty but soft and useless and would invite thieves more readily. Silver was sturdier and offered at least some protection from the monsters he hunted.

The jeweler rummaged beneath the table and pulled out a pair of oval pendants, similar to what was on display. The edges had a simple braided pattern as decoration but nothing more. Jaskier would prefer something more flamboyant, if it were just the one, but matching would be far more pleasing. Geralt tested the metal, pleased with the quality of the silver. He nodded, then described what he wanted both the cat and the wolf to look like. The man pulled out parchment and did a couple quick sketches, adjusting as needed. When Geralt finally approved them, he quoted a price that made Geralt wince a bit internally. He had never spent so much on something that was just for show before, though he could afford it. It was difficult to part with the money, when all his experience told him to horde it against future need. But he had never spoiled Jaskier in this way before and he wanted to. Not only that, but it had given him an odd thrill to see her marked as so thoroughly _his_ in that golden gown, and in a rather primitive way, he wanted her marked as his – and himself as _hers_ ­– all the time. He would have to sneak back to the keep for more money, but he was sure he could enlist Triss’ help for that. “How soon can you have them ready?”

The jeweler pursed his lips in thought. “Not sooner than the solstice, I’m afraid. My apprentice can’t man the booth by herself, so I’ll have to work at night. But a commission is rare at the festival, so I’ve no other pieces to get done while we’re here.”

“Half now, half when the work is finished.”

“Done.” They shook on it and Geralt handed over a rather large amount of coin.

As they moved on from the stall to catch up to the others, Triss offered him a portal back to Kaer Morhen without having to be asked. With the others still well distracted, and Eskel as additional guard for them (not that anyone would get through Yen) he accepted easily. They hid behind a rather large tent and Geralt made sure to make fast work of grabbing more than enough coin to finish paying for the pendants so that he could still treat Ciri to something nice.

They easily caught up with the others when he returned, and he just gave Jaskier a bland look when she wondered where they had all been. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but Ciri made some cooing sounds over a stall with the perfumed oils and soaps that Jaskier loved, so she was sufficiently diverted.

They wandered the rest of the day. When the sun went down, the smaller bonfires around the grounds were lit. Ciri threw herself into the dancing, partnering with Eskel, with Geralt and Lambert each taking a few turns with her. True to what Jaskier had said, the younger ones were ushered back to wherever they were staying for the nights as midnight closed in so that the rowdier, bawdier dancing for the adults could commence. They would be taking it in turns to return to the tent with Ciri, with Geralt and Jaskier taking the first couple of nights to let the others enjoy themselves. Ciri was chattering a mile a minute, seeming to have inexhaustible energy, though even Jaskier seemed to be flagging a bit. But once they got back to their magically large and warm tent, she crawled willingly into her bed and fell asleep like blowing out a candle. Geralt carefully tied her compartment closed and slipped his arm around Jaskier’s waist as she leaned against him.

“Ye gods, how does she have so much energy?” she mumbled. “Have I ever had that much energy?”

“Usually all the time, fluff.”

“Hmm.” She looped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his throat. “Take me to bed, love. I don’t think we stopped for more than five minutes at a time all day.”

He laughed quietly and picked her up easily. Inside their compartment, with the flap closed, the sounds of the festival were muffled almost to non-existent. He would not have liked to not hear _anything_ at all, but the enchantment had been well enough done that he would still be able to notice if anyone he didn’t know approached the tent, while still letting him ignore the distant sounds. The bed was basically a mattress on the ground piled high with furs and cushions, but far more comfortable than a bed in a tent had any right to be. He unlaced her dress and steadied her as she slipped it off, hanging it carefully from a hook on the tent wall that seemed just for that purpose. Jaskier was left in some lacy, sheer thing that did absolutely nothing to preserve her modesty. She hummed under her breath as she set to work on the laces of his shirt, and the scent of her arousal started to perfume the air. “I thought you were exhausted,” he murmured.

She gave him a flirty look from under her lashes. “My love, I’m not sure it’s possible for me to be too exhausted to want you.”

“Hmm.” He stripped off his boots, then tumbled her down onto the bed. She laughed as he tickled her sides, making her squirm against him.

Much, much later, he pulled the blankets up over them, tucking them up around her chin. She hummed a little without opening her eyes, fingers lightly stroking over his belly. “This morning,” she murmured. “You punched Varin. He was in earnest, in what he was saying, wasn’t he? And before, all that bullshit flirting he was doing, he didn’t mean it then.”

“Not before, no. He’s been doing it to get under my skin. Until now. Today, he actually wanted you.”

“Because I can shapeshift. I remember telling Aelrindel that humans would hold them captive, in brothels, for the ability. I did not think to find that same…perversion, at Kaer Morhen.”

“He won’t touch you. I won’t let him.”

“I know. But would you be terribly disappointed if I kept close the rest of the winter? He makes me uneasy now, in a way that even Lambert at his angriest never did.”

“As close as you like, fluff.” He kissed to top of her now messy head. “I’ll keep you safe from him.” And he would, no matter what. Lambert had snuck by him with the one cheap shot, but Varin would not get a chance at her – not while he had breath in his body.

She yawned and snuggled in a little closer somehow, scent warm with contentment.

The following couple of days followed much the same pattern, though thankfully Varin found somewhere else to spend his time. Geralt managed to pull Yennefer to the side to consult on a gift for Ciri, and Triss went to pick up the pendants for him the day of the solstice. Since he and Jaskier had spent the previous nights escorting Ciri back to the tent while the others remained to enjoy the adult portion of the celebrations, they were free that night to stay out once the children in white were escorted from the festival grounds. The great bonfire in the middle of everything was finally lit to much applause and drunken cheering. Jaskier whooped as loud as anyone, cheeks flushed with mulled wine and winter chill. Grinning joyfully, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the center of the dancers.

She was a good dancer. Not the best – not like a professional – but quite good. Geralt had picked up the steps fairly easily enough. But dancing with her, when she was laughing and tipsy, with hair and sleeves and skirts flaring out around her when she twirled and then rushed back into his arms was something entirely different. They were in the middle of one of the biggest crowds Geralt had ever been part of, but no one was really paying them any mind, too focused on their own partners and wine and dancing, so that it was, in a strange way, anonymous and private.

After quite some time, long enough that the last mulled wine that she’d downed had begun to fade from her system, she tucked herself up into his arms and pulled his head down to hers for a kiss as the last song faded and a new one started. The crowd of dancers jostled them, and without thinking too much about it, he carried her off to the side and behind a stout, wide oak tree. She beamed up at him when she released his mouth. “Having fun, witcher-mine?”

“Yes,” he said easily. “I like dancing with you.” The weight of the pendants tucked up inside his shirt seemed suddenly incredibly heavy, although he knew that was completely ridiculous – their weight was entirely negligible, even for a normal human. But he wasn’t used to giving gifts, and he suddenly was unsure whether he should go through with it – would Jaskier really want to wear a badge proclaiming them as bound, not just for a few days at a festival, but all the time? This wasn’t like hunting pheasants instead of rabbit where he could because Jaskier preferred them, this was _different_.

Something must have shown on his face because her smile wavered and she cupped his cheeks. “What is it, love?”

“I got you – us – something,” he blurted. She blinked at him and her smile firmed up a little again. “It’s alright if you don’t like it, it was just a thought.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” she assured him.

Geralt wasn’t as sure, not now that it was time to give the gift. But hells, he’d bought the damned things, and the engravings had turned out beautifully, and even if Jaskier wasn’t entirely thrilled, well, she wouldn’t be angry or anything. He pulled the small velvet pouch out and upended it into her hand. The silver spilled out, glinting faintly in the firelight. Her forehead wrinkled as she untangled the chains and held the pendants up. Her lips parted a little in a little ‘o’ of surprise, and she ran a finger over the engravings almost reverently. Her scent almost _exploded_ with the sweet scent of love and lust and she yanked his head down for an almost frantic kiss. Relieved, he kissed back just as franticly, as hungry for her as he always was. He growled when she pulled back, not at all ready to release her mouth.

“Just give me a moment,” she promised. She had to untangle the chains again, and then slipped the longer of the two over his neck. She held the other out to him expectantly. It felt more solemn than he thought such a simple thing should, but he took it from her and slipped it over her head, easing her hair out so that it wouldn’t tangle in the silver links. The wolf engraved on hers stared up at him, predatory and protective. The cat stared up at her from his own chest, wise and somehow mischievous all at once. Her eyes darkened, she fisted her hands in his shirt to yank him close, and her mouth closed back over his in an apparent attempt to devour him.

It was possible that he’d had too much of the overly sweet wine himself. He had never been one for public sex before. But he could not, in that moment, have cared less about the festival goers around them as he backed her up against the tree, hungrily kissing her addictive mouth. Her hands dropped to fumble open the laces on his trousers. Once open, his cock sprang free into the cold winter air. With her help, and without ever breaking the kiss, they got her skirts hiked up out of the way and her legs wrapped around his waist. He pushed inside her, wet heat scorching his cock, far rougher than he usually would. She only gasped into his mouth and clawed at his back in an attempt to get him somehow closer.

He had enough presence of mind to grip the tree rather than her more delicate flesh, and then let himself go, rutting into her as fast and hard as he liked. He couldn’t really help himself, and thankfully the scent of her pleasure wasn’t tainted even slightly by pain. She rutted back just as fiercely, pushing back against the tree for what little leverage she could manage. She found her release quickly, tightening around him and biting his lip and grinding her hips in tight circles to draw out the pleasure. The sharp sting at his lip combined with the feel and smell of her release tipped him over the edge with her, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to feel embarrassed at how quickly it happened. Not with her panting and licking a little clumsily at his lip in between mumbling love words that were only barely coherent. “So…you like them?” he said, managing to sound at least mostly disinterested.

Her eyes widened and she bit his lip again, this time vengefully. “You _ass_! I love them. They’re perfect – _you’re_ perfect. Whatever made you think of them?”

He ducked his head into her throat to lap away the layer of sweat that had gathered there, both from the dancing and the fucking. She shivered and clenched around him, as he knew she would. “We both like it when you wear my shirts. And I liked you wearing my color this week.”

“So basically, you’re a possessive bastard who wanted his mark on me all the time, and you were smart enough to know I’m just as possessive and would want my mark on you, too.”

Honesty compelled him to confess, “Admittedly, it was Triss who suggested a matched pair, but –“

“But you still knew it was right. Who picked the designs?”

“I did. The jeweler is a fair artist.”

She hummed, sounding somehow smug. “You’re perfect,” she repeated, tilting her head to give him more room, more skin, to lick and kiss and nibble.

He probably would have taken her again right there if a drunken couple had not stumbled around the tree in search of their own semi-privacy and giggled at the sight of them. Geralt growled a little as he shielded Jaskier from sight so she could straighten her skirts, then adjust his trousers for him. She seemed perfectly composed once their clothing was more or less back in order and cheerfully ceded the tree to the giggling pair. Geralt was a little less sanguine about things. He wanted her again, preferably bare except for the pendant, and as soon as possible. Without much thought, he threw her over his shoulder and began to thread his way through the drunken, rowdy, and frequently fornicating festival-goers back towards their tent. She just laughed and squeezed his ass, encouraging him to move faster.

She looked _amazing_ spread out naked for him, with the wolf staring out a challenge to the world from her chest.

He rather thought he looked similarly amazing sometime later, when Jaskier shifted back and spread him out and couldn’t stop kissing and licking around the cat that sat on his chest beside his witcher medallion as Jaskier pushed his way inside.

They were the last ones to wake up the next day. Geralt was entirely unrepentant when they finally staggered out of their quarters. They were both in their regular clothing, though Jaskier had placed the pendant prominently on his chest to stand out against his doublet. Geralt’s was on display as well, but tangled with his medallion, it didn’t stand out as much.

Ciri noticed right away and bounded over to have a look. “Oh, that’s lovely! And look, oh, the cat looks just like you when you’re a kitty.”

Jaskier grinned at her, a trifle smug. “A matched pair – Geralt has one too.”

She whipped her head around and spotted the pendant. “That’s so romantic,” she sighed, comparing the two. Then she grinned up at him. “Who knew you had it in you? Or did you have help?”

“It was all his own idea,” Triss assured her. “I was there.”

“So romantic,” she sighed again.

Varin had returned, and though he didn’t speak, the barely audible snort spoke volumes. He stank up the tent with the smell of several other bodies and days’ worth of sex. It wasn’t pleasant, but Geralt hoped that his obvious success would make him feel superior enough to leave off his usual antics. Certainly, with Jaskier in his original form, his lust didn’t rise. Geralt gave him a single warning look, waited until Varin looked away, then turned his attention back to his child and lover. Jaskier leaned against him as Ciri chattered about the romance of it all, asked about how Geralt had presented it, sighed some more over Jaskier’s far more fanciful version of events (thankfully leaving out how awkward Geralt had felt – no one in the room would have let him live it down) and then started chattering on about all the different and useful enchantments the matched pendants would be ideal for.

Visibly proud, Yennefer draped her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Those are lovely ideas, and well thought out. But perhaps we can continue this conversation back at Kaer Morhen. Are you ready to take down the tent?”

Ciri puffed up and nodded. “Yes I am!” she said confidently.

“Well then, everyone, let’s step outside so the lady can work,” Yennefer ordered.

Jaskier made a brief, startled noise and darted back into their room. He emerged a moment later with the dress draped over his arm and the golden cloak clasped around his throat. He shoved Geralt’s pack, with his festival garb rolled neatly inside, into his arms. “Don’t lose those,” he ordered and Geralt gave him the most innocent look he could manage. Jaskier’s return look stated quite plainly that he knew better and was only keeping silent to spare Geralt’s dignity. Then they followed everyone out of the tent and watched as Ciri did a bit of spellwork that made the tent vanish. There were a few startled gasps around them as a handful of other people, somehow awake and not too hungover to pay attention, saw. Geralt kept an ear out for anyone wanting to make an issue of it as they then moved into the trees and out of sight for the portal.

They were met on the other side by both Vesemir and Berengar. Vesemir immediately scowled and stabbed a finger at Varin. “Go wash, you reek! I don’t want you stinking up the whole damned castle.” But his eyes swept over Ciri in an assessing sort of way, and only the lack of yelling indicated that he was satisfied with their caretaking efforts from the past few days.

There were times that Geralt wondered just whose Child Surprise Ciri really was – his or his mentor’s.

Varin moved to obey, and the rest of them moved off to their own pursuits. Ciri had to regale Vesemir with tales of their adventure over the past few days. Jaskier tugged him towards the kitchen, muttering something about breakfast, while the others vanished.

Geralt happily followed his lover to the kitchens. They both needed baths themselves, but it would be better after Varin were done. If his eyes landed on Jaskier while either were naked, Geralt might well pluck them from his head. He stood behind Jaskier as his bard cooked, arms looped around his waist and chin resting on his shoulder as he worked. Geralt admittedly wasn’t listening to what he was saying so much as the tone. Jaskier was radiating happiness and contentment, warm and sweet smelling, and Geralt was right there with him.

He got an elbow to the gut that made him hum a question as he tucked his nose into the top of Jaskier’s shirt to get better access to his scent, still smelling of them both and sex and happiness. Jaskier’s chest vibrated as he laughed and Geralt finally made himself focus on the words.

“You haven’t been listening at all, have you, witcher-mine?” Jaskier said, mock angrily.

“I have. You’re happy,” he pointed out. Granted, it didn’t address the actual content of what Jaskier had been saying, because no, he had no clue there. But the general topic had to be a good one since Jaskier remained happy the entire time he’d been talking.

“Pfft, that’s my mood, love. Not my words. Lucky for you, it wasn’t particular important, and I’ve had years to get used to you tuning out my idle chatter. Plates, if you please.”

A bit reluctantly, Geralt pealed himself away to fetch plates and forks, and held them ready while Jaskier heaped them high with eggs and giant ham steaks. They sat at the table, and Geralt found that he was still disinclined to release him, which meant that they both had to eat one handed. Easy enough for the eggs, but the ham was another matter. Geralt wasn’t one for manners and just tended to spear it and hold the entire thing to his mouth for a bite. After a bit of fussing, Jaskier gave in and did the same, although Geralt clearly heard the teasing whisper of, “Ridiculous man,” when Geralt refused to relinquish his hand to let him cut it properly.

About the time they were finishing, Lambert strode into the kitchen and stopped to stare at them. “I swear, the pair of you act like characters from some old ballad!” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Old ballad?” Jaskier pointedly tugged at his pendant. “Bold of you to assume we don’t have ballads of our own – with a new one coming, after our little holiday!” He hummed, a bit of a tune that Geralt hadn’t heard before, slow and sweet, and yes, reminiscent of one of the old style love ballads.

“Ugh. Soppy fuckers. Go bathe, the prick is done and the rest of us don’t need to smell you walking around like the far side of a honeymoon.”

Geralt tugged a bit at Jaskier’s pendant, since his own was trapped between his chest and Jaskier’s back. “We are, basically.”

“That doesn’t mean we want to smell it!”

Geralt didn’t really care about Lambert’s abused sense of smell, but a soak in one of the keep’s giant baths sounded extremely pleasant after the week of making do with the tent’s enchanted tub – which really only fit one person at a time.

Jaskier, however, couldn’t let that pass. Even as they both stood up to make use of said available baths, he shot back, “Oh, like you and Triss aren’t just as bad? She’s a magical healer, and she _still_ walks around decorated with your love marks.”

“But we don’t stink of it – she spells the smell away.”

“Who needs the smell when you keep her neck so well chewed?”

Lambert darted out a quick finger to stab at a livid mark on Jaskier’s neck. “With you two, the rest of us get _both_. Although hells, at least you didn’t reek like Varin did. Ugh, I don’t think he washed even once the whole time we were there!”

“So glad for normal human senses,” Jaskier said fervently.

Geralt was very much done with speaking about Varin and just scooped Jaskier up and slung him over his shoulder. Jaskier laughed and waved at Lambert as he strode out, and then occupied himself with Geralt’s ass the entire trip down to the baths.

It really did feel like a honeymoon, of sorts. They had been pledged to each other for years already, but Geralt knew himself as a possessive bastard. He controlled it, as it wouldn’t do either of them any good for him to growl at every person who cast an interested gaze towards his bard. Jaskier flirted easily, at least while performing, although Geralt could definitely spot a difference to it these days. Prior to them admitting their feelings, there had been actual intent in the flirting, often enough. There was none of that left, and the flirting was simply part of the act while Jaskier performed, and at that, only when the drink had been flowing long enough for tavern patrons to really get into the bawdy songs. He _knew_ Jaskier had no interest in anyone else. His heart never beat faster when he looked at anyone but him, and his scent never took on the honey scent of arousal.

Even so, seeing his wolf’s head staring out at the world from Jaskier’s chest was deeply satisfying in a way he hadn’t expected. Just seeing Jaskier toy with it as he thought made him want to growl and nibble the skin where the chain rested. They didn’t require any extra effort for Jaskier to stay close; Geralt was entirely unwilling to let Jaskier out of his sight for any longer than it took either of them to use the privy.

His one concession to the other occupants was to save the nibbling for _after_ they made it behind closed doors. They all still had to deal with the sight of them all but attached at the hip, though. Jaskier even took to following him out in the mornings for training, which was usually hit or miss. Even with their advanced healing, he had never been over fond of watching Geralt go all out against his brothers. Jaskier didn’t care to see him with blood on him, least of all for something as unimportant as _training_. It never mattered that the truly minor wounds received on the practice field healed within hours at most.

In short, it was a blissful few weeks. It all came to a screeching halt at dinner, however, as Ciri pierced him with a bold, challenging stare that pulled his attention away from where Jaskier’s ankle was entwined between his under the table. “When spring comes, I will be going with you,” she declared in a tone that was a clear attempt at brooking no argument.

Geralt cocked his head at her. “Possibly,” he allowed. “We’ll have to discuss that.” He looked to Yennefer and Vesemir, both better suited to judging Ciri’s skill level than himself. He knew too little of magic to know if she had progressed enough with her powers to be on the road for three seasons, and Vesemir had been training witchers for a couple centuries; he would know best if her non-magical fighting skills were ready for the variety of contracts the spring would bring. Drowners were, after all, some of the easiest to kill.

Ciri made a rude noise. “Why do they get more of say in what I do than me? I know I am ready! I am not a child any longer, Geralt.”

“No, you are not,” he agreed mildly. Yennefer had an odd look in her eyes as she watched her student, and Triss was strangely blank faced. Geralt took a slow, deep breath, and scented an unusual amount of anger and frustration from the girl. “And I am not saying that they have more say in what you do than you. But they are both better able to judge your skills. I am not much of a teacher, and I know less of sorcery. It isn’t as simple as hopping on a horse and coming along, as you well know.”

“So am I meant to stay locked up here forever? I am ready for _more_ , Geralt. Which you would have noticed if you could be bothered to climb out of Jaskier’s trousers for more than five minutes!” she snapped, mean and waspish as he’d never heard her before.

Beside him, he could feel Jaskier freeze in place, felt the slight increase in heat as a flush no doubt spread over his cheeks, and smelled embarrassment and a tint of anger cloud his scent. “That’s enough,” he warned her.

“What? It’s true!”

Jaskier put a hand on his arm. “We _have_ been more preoccupied than usual, of late,” he said, voice soothing. “I’m sorry, sweeting. Took the honeymoon a bit far. We _should_ talk about you coming on the road with us for more than a month, if nothing else.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t see why you would get a say – what could you know about it anyway? You’re just a bard!”

“One with many years of experience on the road and walking the Path at Geralt’s side,” Jaskier returned calmly, still soothing. “More, if you _aren’t_ ready, when something goes wrong, it will be either Geralt or myself that are likely to get hurt keeping you safe. More likely Geralt than myself, admittedly, but the possibility is still there that I would have to try to help you. It’s something we should _all_ discuss.”

“Oh please, like my life would ever be in your hands!” She drew herself up in her seat and attempted to stare down her nose at him. “I am the Lion Cub of Cintra, princess and one day queen. I hardly see where you should have a single bit of a say in what I do, _bard_ ,” she sneered, honest contempt in voice and eyes.

True anger colored Jaskier’s scent, along with hurt and confusion. Geralt opened his mouth to reprimand her, but Jaskier squeezed his arm and straightened beside him. That cool tone that they both hated colored his words. “Lion Cub of where? Cintra? The conquered kingdom,” he said silkily. “I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove from my father’s side. From my mother’s, I am a prince – and a prince of a line that predates the Conjunction and humanity’s presence in this world. If you wish to pull rank, I’m afraid you have chosen the wrong person to do so with, _girl_. My people still hold at least part of their original lands, which is more than can be said for you, outcast princess! Now, we are quite willing to discuss the future with you, but only when you pull your head out of your own arse and behave like the adult you wish to be treated as!” His voice cracked, like a glacier splitting, and Geralt honestly was shocked. Not that he wasn’t angry at Ciri himself, but he hadn’t thought it possible for _Jaskier_ to get angry enough at, well, anyone outside of his parents or Valdo Marx to take that sort of tone.

Ciri’s eyes went wide with shock, the haughtiness dropping away as if it had never been. But only for a few moments. Anger rose up then, stronger than he’d ever known it from her, making her scent peppery and sour and her eyes narrowed into slits. “Fuck you,” she spat.

“That’s enough!” Yennefer rose to her feet, eyes glowing. “Cirilla, go to your room. We will discuss things tomorrow, when everyone has cooled down.” Ciri opened her mouth to protest. “Go!” Yen’s voice cracked like a whip.

Ciri’s eyes went wide and wet, and without another word, she jumped up and stomped out. Jaskier slumped against him and Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s wrong with her, Yen?” Jaskier asked. “That was _not_ Ciri looking out of her eyes.”

“I do not know. She has been…secretive, of late. Petulant, as though every task and exercise set to her was beneath her,” Yennefer answered. Geralt looked to Vesemir.

The old man hummed. “She has shown a remarkable arrogance, when I have been able to corner her into practicing. It started shortly after your return from the festival. I wasn’t terribly shocked. Most of the boys I have taught hit a phase like that sooner or later in their training, usually after they survived the Trials. I thought perhaps it was, ah, a female thing. She _is_ growing up.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Oh, from what I have seen and experienced, it isn’t odd to get an attitude in one’s teen years, but that? That was the sort of attitude that I would have expected from one of my siblings,” he said softly. “The attitude not of someone thinking they are older and more worldly than they are, but of one that truly thinks they are better than all those around them.” He grimaced. “I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, though. No matter the attitude.”

“Neither of you should have spoken to the other as you did. But I do not know why she spoke to you like that. That isn’t like her.”

“No. That did not seem to be Ciri behind her eyes.” Jaskier turned to Yennefer, then looked at Triss. “I know fuck all about magic. This might be an incredibly stupid question, but is there something about having strong magical powers that exacerbates the normal puberty attitude?”

“No, Jaskier. Magic doesn’t make puberty worse,” Yennefer said, rolling her eyes.

“I agree with him, however,” Triss put in. “Jaskier may not have powers, but his instincts, when he listens to them, are very accurate. Something is wrong with Ciri, and it would be best if we found out what as soon as possible.”

“We’ll give her the night to calm down,” Yennefer suggested. “Triss and I can speak with her in the morning.”

Jaskier nodded. “Alright. Please let me know if she’s calmed down then. I should apologize for speaking to her like that,” he said guiltily.

“You both need to apologize,” Geralt pointed out. “Regardless of what prompted it, she had no call to use that tone.” Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt cut him off. “No, Jaskier. You have never been anything but kind and generous with her, you have managed to yank both mine and Vesemir’s heads out of our asses about treating her like another recruit, you have worked your ass off to bring her treats and books and your own _lute_ just to make her happy. I love her, but she was as out of line as you were.”

“Yes, well, we’ve also been completely absorbed in each other these last weeks, too. We’ve neglected her.”

Yennefer snorted. “You were on your honeymoon, you idiots. We all understood that. She was sighing and giggling over the romance of it all until fairly recently. No, this is something else. We will figure it out.”

Jaskier nodded glumly and they all finished eating in silence.

Neither of them slept well that night. Jaskier smelled too much of worry, and Geralt himself was seething with anger and concern. So Yennefer’s voice, somehow ringing through the entire keep, didn’t precisely wake either of them, but it _did_ startle Jaskier badly enough that he fell out of bed.

_“Wake up! Ciri’s gone!”_

Geralt rolled out of bed in a more controlled fashion and yanked on his trousers. Jaskier pulled Geralt’s shirt on, skipping pants entirely, and they both raced out of their room and down the hall to Ciri’s. Yennefer was standing in the doorway, hands glowing as she peered at them. “Where has she gone?” he demanded. The others were not far behind, and clustered behind them intently. They were all too experienced to be panicked, but there was definitely an extreme sense of urgency filling the corridor.

“I don’t know,” Yennefer gritted out, frustrated. “I can tell she isn’t in the keep, but the little baggage has shielded herself from me. She’s _strong_ , Geralt. In time, Triss and I could break through her shielding, but –“

“Lambert, Eskel, Aubry, Berengar, compass point search,” Vesemir barked. The four witchers peeled off. Vesemir pushed by and looked around the room. “No signs of violence, at least.”

“We would have heard,” Geralt pointed out. “Nothing could have gotten into the keep past the wards anyway.”

“She left on her own,” Jaskier said. He pointed at the open wardrobe. “Her heavy winter gear is missing. And her swords. But she left everything else.” He fingered the lute on its stand next to the door.

“Perhaps she simply wanted a bit of privacy,” Triss suggested. “She may be right outside practicing. She was quite angry last night, she might just be blowing off steam.”

“Then why block me?” Yennefer demanded.

“Privacy,” Triss repeated. Her face went gentle. “I know most of us did not have great relationships with our parents. I might be the only one here who did. I can remember a couple of rows with my mother that sent me stomping into the woods to kick trees as a girl. Even with the closest of relationships, it can happen.”

Geralt nodded and crossed his arms, hiding his concern as best he could. He hoped she was just sulking somewhere nearby. She should have left a note, but maybe it was understandable that she hadn’t. At least it hadn’t been storming lately.

Lambert returned first, and his grim face made Geralt’s heart sink. “She went up the mountain,” he said bluntly. “Tracks are hours old.”

“Fuck!” He turned to go get his gear on, but Jaskier grabbed his arm. “Jaskier –“

“I can find her faster,” he pointed out. He looked at Yennefer. “Got some way to track me? And for me to signal where I am so you can portal to us?”

“Here.” Yennefer reached out and grabbed his pendant. A few muttered words, and she dropped it. “I could find you even if I were half dead, now. Triss, do you have – thanks.” Triss fished a small vial out of her pocket. Yennefer filled it with water and did some more mumbling. “How do you intend to find her? Cat?”

“Too slow. Falcon.”

Yennefer’s eyes widened a fraction, then she nodded. “Alright.” She grabbed one of the pieces of leather that Ciri used to tie off her hair and made a fast loop around the little, now glowing, vial. “Drop this when you find her. I’ll open a portal to you and we’ll come through as fast as we can.”

Jaskier nodded and closed his eyes. He took an audible breath, and then melted down until a falcon, with steely blue and white feathers, stood in the puddle of his shirt. The pendant still dangled, but it was obvious to Geralt that the moment Jaskier moved, it would fall off. Triss bent and touched the chain until it shrank. “There, now it will grow or shorten with your size,” she said briskly. “When this is done, we are going to make a few adjustments to _both_ your pendants.”

“Later,” Geralt bit out. he bent and let Jaskier hop onto his arm, talons closing but not piercing his skin. Yennefer handed the little vial over and let Jaskier take the leather in his beak. “Hurry,” he advised. “I need to shake her until her senses return.” Yennefer opened the window, letting in the dry, frigid air from outside swirl around the room. Jaskier bumped his head once against Geralt’s face, spread his wings, and dove out the window.

“When did he learn that form?” Yennefer asked.

“A while back. He doesn’t like flying. Well,” Geralt amended. “He likes the actual flying part, but he has a rough time getting his balance back when he changes back.”

“Amazing,” Varin murmured, drawing everyone’s notice for the first time in a while. He was staring out the window with a covetous look. His gaze turned to Geralt. “I fail to understand what he sees in you, really. With his abilities, he could be being pampered anywhere in the land. He _should_ be.”

Geralt let out a low growl and stepped forward, but Lambert beat him to it. He grabbed Varin by the scruff of the neck and threw him out of the room. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll break it so badly it’ll take a month to heal,” he advised. “We don’t need your troublemaking right now.”

Varin picked himself up and brushed himself off. “Whatever. You all know it’s true. Geralt does not deserve half the fame that he has, nor the attentions of either the bard or the girl. At least the girl has had the sense to recognize it.” Eskel, returning with the other two, punched him on his way by without breaking stride to find out what was happening. Vesemir gave him a fast update, and he nodded.

“Get dressed,” he advised. “If she went up mountain, there’s no telling what she could run into. We should be ready for anything.”

~

Jaskier had a love hate relationship with flying. Once he got going and let his body take over, it was easy, but there was always a bit of gibbering in the back of his mind pointing out how very high up he was and how very dead he would be if something happened and he fell instead of flew. And it was hard to walk again, after flying. Birds didn’t walk all that much, just kind of hopped around after worms or seeds or whatever, or, in the case of raptors, use their feet and wicked talons for gripping and tearing prey.

But his current flight made him forget all that. His keen eyesight picked out the tracks Lambert had found, and he was able to follow their course up the mountain. He wished she had gone _down_ the mountain. The terrain wasn’t any better, but there were actually fewer monsters that way. Enough to work as a deterrent for most humans, not enough to bother the witchers, but up the mountain, past the keep, was a whole different thing. None of the witchers really went up there. There was sufficient hunting closer to the keep, and humans didn’t go that high, so the monsters there had been free to breed as they liked. Wyverns and wargs and the gods only knew what else. She had taken her swords, and she had her powers, but.

Well, that was just it, wasn’t it? But. But she was alone and had never faced anything like that before on her own. If it were just people, he thought she could cope well enough. But it was one thing to learn a monster from a book, or even face down one with someone more experienced right there taking the brunt of the fight and ready to bail you out if you got into trouble. But to face a monster all on your own, no matter how powerful or well equipped you were, was something else entirely. Jaskier knew she was very good, but she didn’t have the physical advantages of a witcher. Not the strength, reflexes, senses, or healing. Her magic might well save her, but there were some creatures all but immune to magic, no matter how powerful.

His fears were confirmed when he heard a terrifying shriek and saw the biggest wyvern he had ever encountered fly up into the air and then dive down at someone on the mountain. Jaskier went lower and put on a burst of speed. They were high above even the hardiest of trees, where the mountain was all rocky outcroppings and sheer drops. He spotted Ciri crouched next to a boulder as the wyvern dove at her. She had some kind of shield over herself and managed to shoot a bit of flame at the creature that made it flinch back, but it was obvious that she was panicked. Jaskier could make out the terrified look on her face and tear tracks streaking her cheeks and let the vial fall from his mouth. The wyvern hit the shield with its tail, attempting to impale her on the poisoned barb at the end. It didn’t penetrate, but he could see the faint shimmer of it waver, and the thin, high shriek told him she was about to lose it. The wyvern turned to climb for another dive, and Jaskier climbed as well. He could do it faster and managed to get above the wyvern. He turned and dove, faster than the wyvern was capable of, and managed to leave bloody tears on its wing from talons and beak.

The wyvern let out a furious shriek and turned on him. He’d lost a lot of speed as he’d clawed at it and drove his wings as fast as he could to try to climb. He was not fast enough to avoid the tail, though thankfully not the poisoned barb, and the impact sent him spinning through the air. His left wing was on fire, it seemed, and he couldn’t move it to slow his descent. All he could do was tuck both wings tight and control where he landed.

The large drift of snow was not nearly as soft as he’d hoped. As he blacked out, he was pretty sure he heard Geralt’s furious roar.

~

Yennefer stood waiting, visibly tense. Geralt was no better, as the two people most important to him were out on the mountain, alone and vulnerable. His brothers stood around him, all of them dressed in their winter gear, and all of them armed to the teeth. The anxiety oozing from every pore in the room just made them all the edgier. So when her hand snapped out and formed a portal, there was no hesitation. Geralt was first through, tumbling out high up the mountain. Over his head, a fucking royal wyvern twisted, obviously looking for something. He could hear Ciri’s panicked breathing, and spotted her tucked up against a large boulder, with a shield shimmering over her. Her swords were nowhere in sight, but the blood dripping from one of the creature’s wings said that _something_ had managed to score a hit.

He could not see Jaskier.

Royal wyverns were a pain and a half to kill, unless there were five witchers and a pissed off sorceress. Yennefer looped magic around its neck and dragged it to the ground, and it was quick work for his brothers to kill it. Geralt left them to it and ran through the snow to Ciri. “Are you hurt? Did it manage to sting you? Even a small prick could be deadly, Ciri!” He pushed against her shield until her terrified gaze focused on him. With a sob, she let it fall and flung herself into his arms, reeking of terror but not, thankfully, of blood.

“It was so _big_ and so _fast_ , I tried! Oh, gods, I’m so sorry I left, Geralt, I thought I could do it, I thought I was ready, I wanted to _prove_ I was ready, Varin kept saying –“

“Varin?!” he snapped, pulling her back to look in her eyes. “What has that miserable fuck been saying?”

“He – he said I was ready, but you couldn’t see it, and it was such a shame that – that you were keeping me all tucked away like a babe in the nursery. I shouldn’t have listened, I don’t know what I was thinking, it was so fast.” She sniffed, hard, and scrubbed a hand over her face. “I didn’t even get one hit in, it was all I could do to keep the shield up. It came out of _nowhere_. How did you find me?”

“Jaskier did – where is he?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“The bird – the falcon,” he said, a trifle impatiently.

Her eyes went impossibly wider, and a fresh flood of tears fell. “That was _Jaskier?!_ It – the wyvern, it hit him with its tail, I think.”

“Fuck!” Geralt surged to his feet and thrust Ciri at Eskel. “Yennefer, can you find Jaskier? He was hit by the wyvern.”

“I’m pretty sure not before Jaskier hit it,” Yennefer muttered. Her eyes half closed and she turned to point. “He’s close – that way.”

Geralt charged across the stone and snow until he spotted a pile of snow that had gathered against another boulder. There was a divot in it, and when he plunged his hand down, his fingers encountered warm feathers. Carefully, he extracted his lover’s limp body. Jaskier’s little heart was still beating, and air still moved in his lungs, but he was out cold. His wings hung limply from his body, one of them with an odd bend to it that should not be there. “Fuck fuck fuck!” He cradled Jaskier close and hurried back to the others. “We need Triss.”

Ciri took one look at Jaskier’s body and burst into the type of noisy, full body sobs that she used to get after one of her nightmares. Yennefer wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and opened a portal. Geralt charged through, already bellowing for Triss.

She was already waiting, her various potions and salves arrayed on her worktable. Yennefer had portaled them right into her workroom. “Shit,” she muttered when she saw Jaskier in his hands. “Ciri?”

“Unharmed,” he said, carefully laying Jaskier down on the table. He could hear the others spilling into the room behind him, and then leaving just as quickly. It was so hard to stay, when he knew Ciri was still so afraid and crying, but Yennefer would look after her, and right now, Jaskier was the one hurt.

Triss ran her hands slowly over Jaskier’s form and frowned. She looked off to the side for a moment, then turned to her bottles. “His wing is broken, and two ribs, and he’s got a mild concussion. I’ve asked Yennefer to join us. I have no experience shifting him back to his true form, and I’m not comfortable trying to heal him like this,” she explained. She plucked a couple of the bottles up, and then readied bandages and splints. “I can heal his bones faster than normal, but if he doesn’t want to lose any function in that arm, we’ll want to be cautious. It will need to be immobilized for a while. The concussion is easier, as are the ribs. He’ll be fine, Geralt. I promise,” she assured him as Yennefer hurried back in. “I need him human, please, Yennefer.”

Yennefer looked at him, both of them remembering Jaskier’s order for her to stay out of his head. He nodded grimly at her - he would take the anger, if there were any. She lightly touched a finger to his forehead. Slowly, much slower than he had ever seen Jaskier shift before, his form lengthened and changed until he lay nude and bruised all down one side. His arm was swollen and looked obscenely painful. Triss wasted no time in tipping his head back and pouring the potions down his throat. Then she took hold of his swollen arm and pulled, twisting slightly. Geralt could _hear_ the ends of the bones grind against each other as Triss aligned them. When she gestured, he took hold and kept it steady as she strapped it tightly between two long, sturdy slats of wood. She stepped back with a nod. “Put him to bed. Make sure he stays nice and warm – he’ll be a little more vulnerable to chill while his body expends the extra resources to heal. This should help the bruising, and he can have two drops of this in water for pain, no more than every six hours,” she instructed, passing over two more bottles. He pocketed them, and then moved to gather Jaskier up. “I would expect him to sleep for a few hours, but when he does wake up, his concussion should be gone. Let me know _immediately_ if he has any pain in his head, or dizziness. Or if he hasn’t woken by sunset at the latest. When he does wake, I’ll have soup ready for him. He can eat as much as he can comfortably keep down.”

“Got it. Thank you,” he added, including Yennefer in the words.

“Put him to bed and join us in the hall as soon as you can,” Yennefer said. There was a dark, almost crazed gleam in her eyes. “Varin did more than just _talk_.”

Geralt’s gut clenched. “Right,” he said tightly.

It was harder than he would have imagined, leaving Jaskier sleeping in their bed. He built the fire up, and layered several blankets over him, and then had to force himself out the door. His lover was injured, and something had been done to his child, and by the end of the day, he was going to have blood on his hands for it all.

Everyone was in the hall, and the rage he scented from his brothers was almost overwhelming. Ciri was sitting in one of the plush armchairs, looking dazed and still frightened and very confused. She flushed with guilt when she saw Geralt and lowered her head, unable, it seemed, to look him in the eye.

Varin, for the first time that he could remember, appeared uneasy behind his arrogant façade.

“What. The fuck. Has been going on,” he demanded.

“It’s my fault,” Ciri whispered.

Yennefer stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “It most certainly is _not_ ,” she snapped. “You must get that thought out of your head. You are a student, a child, and you have no guilt here. Varin,” she said coldly, “has been seeking Ciri out when she’s alone and speaking with her. Spilling all kinds of nasty little poison in her ears – and reinforcing it all with _axii_. Over time, and with repeated uses, he was able to manipulate her mind and her memories so that she believed the words and forgot the casting.”

“I’m a mage, I should have been able to block it,” Ciri protested.

Geralt felt an odd calm wash over him as he stared at Varin. “Cirilla, this is not your fault. I’m certain Yennefer will teach you ways to protect your mind from other attacks, no matter how overt or subtle they may be. Yennefer, Triss, will you please take Ciri to her room? She’s exhausted.” The women glanced at each other, took a look around the room, and nodded. They hurried Ciri out of the room and shut the heavy doors behind them.

Geralt had not removed his weapons after their return, and drew the silver sword, the hiss of its leaving the sheath loud in the hall. His brothers did the same.

Varin held up his hands. There was no point in protesting his innocence – lies from a witcher smelled the same as lies from a human. He did attempt his typical deflection. “Now hold on, you’re all over reacting here,” he insisted. “How was I to know the girl would be so vulnerable to axii, hmm? She supposed to be so strong. It was just a bit of fun, just taking the piss as it were. I had no way of knowing she would overreact like that and nearly get herself hurt – kids!”

“Be silent,” Vesemir ordered. He looked at the rest of them. “Put your blades away – witchers do not kill witchers!”

“He doesn’t get to live,” Geralt countered. “He used axii on an innocent to twist her mind for his own selfish purposes. Who knows how often he has misused it in the past? It goes against all our training, violates every code we have. He doesn’t get to live.”

“Witchers do not kill witchers,” Vesemir repeated. “But,” he added, drawing all eyes to him, “witchers cannot be allowed to do as Varin has done without consequences. Varin, you clearly cannot be trusted to use your abilities as they should be. You aren’t fit to be a witcher. The world looks on us as near monsters already, and all you have done is proven them right. We have to be better.”

“I swear, Vesemir, I meant no real harm. It was poor judgement, yes, and I swear I will never do such a thing again,” Varin promised.

“No,” Vesemir agreed. “You won’t. Aubry, Berengar, take him and secure him in the Trial room. The serum will take some time to prepare.”

“What serum?” Geralt demanded.

Vesemir gazed at him, every one of his three hundred years in his eyes. “There is a way to strip the mutagens from a witcher. It has only been used once in all our history. We do not kill witchers, but we will not tolerate a witcher to misuse their abilities.”

For once, true fear and panic swamped Varin’s scent. He had been allowed, so often, to get away with his bullshit that Geralt thought he believed he would never be truly censored. Geralt wasn’t sure that losing the enhancements from the mutagens was that much of a punishment – unless the slowed aging caught up with one all at once? But even if not, Varin would no longer be a witcher, and the rule against killing him would no longer apply.

He hoped the stripping process hurt as much as going through the Trials had.

Varin broke and ran. Against humans, of course, he would have likely gotten away. But with five highly motivated witchers after him, he never made it out of the hall. Geralt reached him first, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and swung him face first into the wall. The wet crunch of bone breaking was deeply satisfying.

Aubry and Berengar pried him off before he could do it again, but that was alright. He could wait. Varin began cursing and struggling, though his words were little more the slurred mush through his broken face, and with two witchers holding him, his struggles were completely ineffective. Before his brothers could take the fucker from the room, Geralt reached out and grabbed his medallion. He pulled it off with a vicious yank that left a bloody stripe around his neck. Varin howled, struggles increasing to the point that Gweld stepped in to help hold him as well.

“Go see to the girl and your bard,” Vesemir ordered. “Your brothers and I will see to Varin.”

Geralt wanted more blood, but he would wait. Ciri would need reassurance, and he didn’t want to be far from Jaskier. If the stripping serum hadn’t been made in centuries, then it would likely take Vesemir quite some time to create it, since he would be utterly meticulous to be sure he did it correctly and would not accidentally poison Varin. It would be a pity to miss what he would look like, stripped of the enhancements he was so proud of.

Ciri was in her room, sandwiched between Yennefer and Triss. She took one look at his face and started crying again. Geralt dismissed all thoughts of vengeance for the moment in favor of gathering her up to rub her back as she cried all over his chest. “It’s alright, Ciri,” he murmured. “Varin won’t be near you again, I promise.”

“Jaskier got hurt because of me! It’s my fault, Geralt, and after I was so nasty to him.”

“Stop.” Geralt set her far enough back from him that he could meet her gaze. “Yes, you were a bit nasty to him, and he gave you the set down you had coming – and felt terrible about doing so right away. He will feel even worse when he learns that it’s because Varin has been twisting your mind. And that is _not_ your fault. That is solely on Varin, and he is being dealt with. I am sorry I have been too preoccupied to have seen what was going on. That is _my_ fault. Without him twisting your head, would you have decided to go up the mountain on your own?”

She sniffed and shrugged. “I have thought about it once or twice, but…no. The wyvern was so _big_ and so _fast_.”

“Royal wyvern,” he corrected automatically. He looked at Yennefer. “Have you…axii usually wears off. None of us have ever used it like he did. We’re not supposed to use it except to calm or temporarily put someone to sleep. Were you able to get rid of what he did?”

“It’s a bit of a process, but the memories are unblocked, and that was the biggest barrier.” She looked soothingly at Ciri, a creditable job when Geralt knew damned when she wanted to roast Varin where he stood for what he had done. “The rest will fade soon enough, and we will begin work on our mental shields. It’s only a little sooner than planned, really.”

“Okay. It really is okay, Ciri. This whole clusterfuck is on Varin. Jaskier will heal, according to the lady,” he said, nodding at Triss.

“He will,” she confirmed. “He has bruising and broken bones, but nothing worse. He should wake up by the end of today.”

“Could I…see him?” Ciri asked, peeking up at him through wet lashes.

“Of course. Why don’t you get your lute? I imagine he’d enjoy some soft playing.” She nodded. Subdued and still sniffling a bit, she gathered her lute and waited meekly by the door. Geralt gave the women a nod and led Ciri down the hall to his and Jaskier’s room. He pulled the wide armchair up next to the bed for her and sat on the bed as she got settled. Her fingers were halting on the strings, as though she were a novice player rather than one with the couple years of practice under her belt that she was. But her playing smoothed out after a bit as she fell into a few familiar tunes, lullabies that Jaskier had played for her on her bad nights. Geralt leaned against the bedpost and wrapped a hand around Jaskier’s ankle under the bed, soothed by the sounds of both his loves’ beating hearts.

~

Jaskier swam slowly into wakefulness, reluctant to leave the warm, peaceful cocoon he was in. Someone nearby was playing lullabies, for some reason, and he couldn’t think of a reason not to let the sound lull him back under. But there was a nagging thought at the far edges of his mind that said he really should wake up, and so, reluctantly, he pushed against the darkness and blinked his eyes open to the canopy above his and Geralt’s bed. He stared for a moment, trying to remember what was so important that he needed to wake up instead of enjoying the relaxing music and warm bed.

Then memory caught up with him, sending his heartbeat racing as he tried to push himself upright. “Ciri!”

Lute strings twanged unpleasantly and Geralt was right there pushing him back down against the pillows. “Easy, fluff, she’s fine. You’re the one that got banged up, trying to take on a royal wyvern on your own.”

He blinked rapidly. “I wasn’t trying to _kill_ it, you giant oaf! Just distract it until you got there! Where is –“

“Jaskier, I’m right here! Are you okay? You should stay still, Triss said you have broken bones, and your arm is in a splint,” Ciri said, coming up alongside the bed.

He swept his gaze over her. Her eyes were rather bloodshot and her hair was a mess, but she looked entirely intact. “Are _you_ okay? It looked like that thing was about to get through your shields,” he recalled.

“I’m okay, just a little tired. Jaskier, I’m so sorry, I should never have gone up the mountain like I did,” she blurted.

Jaskier reached up with his good hand to catch one of hers. “I’m fine – well, aside from a broken arm, it seems.” He looked dolefully at his splinted arm. “How long do I have to wear this thing? Please say it’s not for weeks! Triss can’t mean to let it heal the slow way, right?”

Ciri made an odd noise. “Of course not, but Jaskier, it’s my fault you got hurt!”

“No permanent harm done,” he soothed. “I’m just glad you’re not hurt. I almost pissed myself the first time I saw a wyvern, and it wasn’t near so big as the one you were dealing with! Magic or no, I would have lost my mind.”

“Jas,” Geralt said, tone oddly controlled. Jaskier looked at him, suddenly worried. “It’s not actually her fault. Varin…has been using axii on her. Twisting her mind and memories. Yen unblocked the memories and the effects are fading.”

“I see.” Jaskier gave himself the span of three slow blinks to process that and then squeezed her hand tightly. “Ciri, I know this is a difficult question. But did Varin do…anything else? Did he touch you or talk you into doing anything aside from monster hunting alone?”

“What? No, what do you….” Her eyes went wide. “No! No, he didn’t, uh, force himself on me or anything. It was just – he kept saying how I’m so powerful, and I should be a queen right now, not a child locked in a tower, and none of you actually respected me and wouldn’t until I proved myself, things like that. I – I am sorry, for what I said at dinner.”

“As am I. Even if the words had been truly yours, I should not have spoken to you like I did.” Jaskier squeezed her hand again, then used it to pull her close for as proper of a hug as he could manage with one hand. “And it’s very, very good that he didn’t mind control you into anything else, or I would have had to castrate him before I killed him,” he added. He looked up at Geralt, and he knew his eyes had to be absolutely blazing with the force of the hatred inside him. His scent had to be off the charts with it. “Where is he?”

“He’s being held in the Trials room. Jas, you can’t kill him. Vesemir wouldn’t let _me_ kill him.”

“ _He doesn’t get away with this_!” Jaskier snarled.

“No, he doesn’t. Apparently, there’s a way to undo the mutations.” That brought Jaskier up short and Geralt nodded. “It was news to me, too. It’s only ever been used once before. I don’t know anything more than that. I’m not sure if Vesemir does, either. But witchers can’t kill witchers, so he doesn’t die until he’s not a witcher anymore.”

“Okay, I guess I can wait.” He patted Ciri on the back. “There, don’t worry, sweetie. He won’t be allowed to hurt you again.”

“But it’s my fault! I’m supposed to be so powerful, and he could just – just _do_ that? if I had been paying better attention, or –“

“Nope, nuh uh, none of that. We have a rule in this family, missy, and it’s that we don’t take blame that isn’t ours. Varin did something very, very bad. And I’m quite certain he isn’t sorry for it. I’m not sure he knows how to be sorry for anything. His only upset is that he got caught, he isn’t capable of guilt or remorse or shame.”

“He’s not sorry,” Geralt confirmed. “And he violated a code that we hold absolutely sacred. Lambert – when he slipped, it wasn’t a pre-planned thing, it was spur of the moment, and it wasn’t meant to kill. And he was sorry, and worked really fucking hard to fix it. Varin worked you over for weeks, twisted your entire way of thinking, planted extremely dangerous ideas in your mind, and very nearly got you killed. And if Jaskier had not been able to find you, you _would_ be dead. And he did it all because he was angry that he could not take Jaskier from me, could not take my _family_ from me, and wanted to destroy what he could not have. There is no redemption for him. Your job right now is to rest, to recover, and then to let Yennefer teach you to defend yourself from any similar attacks in the future. Let us deal with Varin – if I have my way, you won’t even set eyes on him again.”

She made an unhappy sound but made no further protestations. Jaskier knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Although they had all been as careful as they could be to not put too much pressure on her, she had nonetheless put enormous pressure on herself. She’d had a very justifiable pride in her abilities, both magical and physical, and this…this had been a blow to that pride. Not only had she not been able to keep Varin out of her mind, but she had also panicked and nearly died in fighting the wyvern. It would be quite some time before she would be able to regain her confidence in herself again, a fact that just made the seething hatred in Jaskier’s guts burn all the hotter.

Triss visited a short while later to check up on him, pleased that his concussion had healed and pronouncing his breaks on their way to mending. She delivered the promised soup and stayed long enough for him to eat half of it and confirm he had no nausea, gave Ciri a hug, and left again. With her skill in potion making, Vesemir had enlisted her aid in creating the stripping agent, and she didn’t want to be gone too long, as the process was a delicate one. Jaskier couldn’t say he exactly understood Vesemir’s desire to have Varin survive the process. If Geralt didn’t kill the man when it was over, then Jaskier most certainly _would_. But it was apparently a matter of principle for the older witcher, and Jaskier wouldn’t ask him to comprise his ethics for the world. Too few people had a real sense of honor, and he wouldn’t see Vesemir’s smirched if he could help it.

Geralt made him stay in bed for two solid days, save for trips to the privy, before he was allowed up for any length of time. When the worst of the bruising was finally gone, thanks to Triss’ excellent salves, Geralt finally relented enough to escort him down to the baths for a soak. By then, the stripping agent was nearly complete, and Jaskier bullied – gently, but still – Geralt into letting him dress and be witness to its administration. Yennefer refused to allow Ciri there, despite the girl’s desire to see it. She still felt somehow responsible, and they all assumed the process would be painful. Jaskier and Geralt agreed wholeheartedly with the sorceress that Ciri should not see it. She was still working to completely reverse the hypnotic like effects of the multiple, prolonged uses of axii, and witnessing the stripping process was unlikely to help the girl.

When the time came to begin the process, Yennefer firmly took Ciri with her to an undisclosed location for some intense girl time. Jaskier wasn’t quite certain what she meant by that, but hoped the time away from the keep and the entire situation would help.

Jaskier joined the witchers in the Trial room. Varin was a wild-eyed, frantic heap, chained down to a table. Vesemir and Triss approached carrying a glass jar of something opaque and faintly glowing.

“Vesemir, you can’t do this,” Varin pleaded. “It was a _prank_. Yes, it went terribly wrong, and I know better now. There are too few of us left, you can’t seriously mean to strip me of my abilities over something so minor!”

“Be silent!” Vesemir snarled. “We live by a code, a very strict code, which you have violated. Our abilities are given to us for one purpose, and one purpose only: to protect. Witchers are made to protect the world from monsters, and you have proven yourself to be as monstrous as the things which we hunt. You cannot, and will not, be allowed to retain your abilities that you have so egregiously misused.” He gestured at Triss and they both leaned over him. Jaskier couldn’t see what they were doing, as their bodies blocked his view of the procedure. When they stepped back, the jar was empty and Vesemir discarded a somewhat large syringe.

Triss nodded to Vesemir and then moved to squeeze Lambert’s hand, then left the room. For a moment, Jaskier considered following her. This seemed a matter for the witchers, and his presence felt somewhat out of place. Then Geralt slipped a hand into his and squeezed. He had an odd look in his eyes, something old and pain-filled, and all thoughts of leaving and, indeed, of any kind of revenge fled. Jaskier twined their fingers together and leaned against him, focused then on just supporting his love as best he could. As justified as they were in what they were doing, it had to be painful as hell to have to lose one of their own in such a way, particularly when there were so few of their school left. He didn’t know the full details, didn’t completely understand everything that went into making a witcher. There were other schools that still recruited, but after the sacking, and the loss of the mages that administered the Trials, there would be no more Wolf Witchers. When, someday, the last of them finally passed, that would be the final end of the school of the wolf.

And then the screaming started. Although not a single one of the upright witchers so much as twitched, Jaskier got the very distinct impression that they all flinched, and he was horribly, frighteningly certain that they had all screamed, just like Varin, when they were boys undergoing the entire process to become witchers in the first place. The sounds coming from the man were barely human, and Jaskier’s too vivid imagination was able to picture his love, his friends, as young boys, screaming out in incomprehensible pain as their bodies were rewritten, remade, from the bones outward into something new.

He hated Vesemir during the whole process. He hated that the man had undoubtedly witnessed Geralt and the others going through it. And he hated that he’d insisted on stripping the mutagens from Varin rather than simply allowing him to be killed, which would have been a swifter, more merciful option, and one that would not have brought such traumatic memories so vividly to the fore for all of them.

The whole thing took hours. It had begun in the morning, before breakfast, and it was nearly midnight when the broken, literally bloody screams finally stopped. Varin lay still on the table. His thrashing had torn his clothing, and his skin beneath that, leaving the chains shining and slick with his blood. Other than that, he didn’t seem much changed, physically. Jaskier had wondered if he would lose muscle, or become shorter or anything like that, but of course height and muscle weren’t necessarily witcher attributes. Unaltered humans could be tall and muscular too. With his eyes closed, Jaskier couldn’t see if his irises had changed to a more normal, human color, rather than the shade of orangish they had been.

But his chest still rose and fell shallowly, so he had survived the process. Vesemir took the chains off, and Varin didn’t stir. At some point, someone had brought a pitcher of water and a hunk of bread. Vesemir placed both on the table beside the man and then gestured at them all to leave. Varin was unconscious, and would be allowed to wake and at least somewhat recover before he was made to leave the keep for the last time.

Silent, they all went to their own rooms. No words were really needed.

It wasn’t until they were ensconced in their room, curled up on their bed, Jaskier’s back to Geralt’s front, that Jaskier finally broke the silence. “Are you alright, my love?”

Geralt kissed his shoulder. “Alright enough. You? You smelled…angry.”

“Yes. Yes I was. Am,” he admitted. “Varin will die anyway. I can’t regret his pain, not really, as I believe he truly is a man with no ability to feel anything but greed or anger or arrogant pride. But that room, his screaming…it brought back memories for you. For the others.” It wasn’t actually a question, but Geralt nodded anyway. “Vesemir could have spared all of you that. I know, for him, it was something of a matter of integrity, that a witcher should not kill a witcher, but I would not have had any of you have those memories brought back so keenly.”

“Sometimes, I truly wish you could smell as well as I do. Yes, I believe we were all remembering our Trials, but mostly, fluff, I was very glad that he had to experience that. Ciri’s suffering will stay with her for a long time.” His fingers danced down along Jaskier’s splinted arm to tangle as best they could with his fingers. “I am _glad_ it hurt – I had hoped that it would. No one was grieving in that room, Jask. No one except Vesemir. He is as close to a father as any of us have ever really had, and he has always cared for us, in his way.”

Jaskier leaned back a bit more and twisted his head back for a kiss. “Okay,” he said when their lips parted. “I won’t yell at him.”

“Thank you.”

~

The keep stayed very subdued after Varin was stripped of his mutagens. Yennefer sent word that she and Ciri were having a fine time and would be gone for some days yet. Geralt felt that was all to the good. Varin showed signs that he’d woken, at least briefly, and drunk some of the water and eaten some of the bread, but when they had checked on him again after breakfast, he was back to being unconscious. Geralt knew without even asking that he would not be allowed to execute Varin within the keep. Vesemir meant to follow through on what had apparently been deemed the proper process for stripping a witcher, which apparently included letting them recover and banishing them, formally, from the keep. For something that was happening for only the second time in all of witcher history, Geralt didn’t fully believe it needed to be so formally adhered to, but it was clear to his nose that Vesemir was grieving. Geralt could be patient.

By the time Varin had recovered from the ordeal, Triss had deemed Jaskier’s arm healed. He was able to stand at Geralt’s side, both hands unbound, as Varin was provisioned with a small pack and a single, small steel sword. His eyes were a dull brown that still glared hate at all of them, and lingered particularly on Jaskier. Jaskier met his gaze unflinching, utterly unafraid and unaffected. In reality, even without the extra strength, speed, and reflexes, Varin’s training far outstripped Jaskier’s abilities. His extensive experience killing monsters would even offset Jaskier’s ability to change shape. Still, Jaskier was as unafraid as he had always been, and even without enhanced senses, Varin could see that – and was only enraged further. Vesemir shoved him out of the keep and locked the gate behind him. “It’s done,” he said heavily. “There is no more a witcher named Varin; his name has been struck from the records. He no longer can call on the safety of Kaer Morhen. We will not speak of him again.”

“As you wish, Vesemir,” Eskel agreed. They all made sounds of agreement until Vesemir walked inside, shoulders just barely slumped in a way that Geralt was entirely unfamiliar with. Vesemir took too much on himself, and he would not get over what he perceived as his failure any time soon. There was not much that could be done about that. Varin had been wrong from the beginning, and no amount of training could have altered a fundamentally flawed person. “You’ll take care of it, I assume?” Eskel murmured once Vesemir was out of even their hearing range.

“Yes,” Geralt confirmed.

“Good enough,” Lambert grunted. He clapped Aubry and Berengar on the shoulders. “Ale is calling our names.” Eskel snorted and rolled his eyes at Gweld but followed all of them back into the keep.

Geralt turned to his lover. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to go in and have some ale?”

“No, witcher-mine, I’m afraid not.” Jaskier smiled up at him, a crooked, fond thing that had steel behind it.

Geralt sighed. “Alright.” He had listened to Varin’s footsteps, and knew the former witcher had broken into a run a few dozen yards from the gates, likely in the hope of finding a spot to lay a trap for whichever of them would come for him. It would not be difficult to find him, nor to avoid whatever trap the man would have managed to devise in the short span of time. He kept Jaskier behind him as they slipped out the gate and kept his sense wide open.

Varin was not difficult to track. His hasty footsteps stood out stark in the snow, the spacing clearly showing how fast he was trying to run, hampered by the snow and his now simply ordinary human strength. Geralt had not lost an ounce of strength, and Jaskier was well used to his own body and its limits, so they were able to catch up to Varin’s laughable lead in moments. Geralt didn’t even break stride when the man leaped down at him from a tree and batted him aside like he was nothing more than a pest. Varin rolled and came up in a crouch, sword drawn.

“Here to stab me in the back?” Varin sneered. “Does your precious Vesemir know you’re here to murder me? I thought stripping me of my mutations was meant to be my punishment.”

“Not at all,” Geralt said mildly. “It was done so that a witcher would not kill a witcher. You’re nothing more than a human, now. You brought this on yourself, Varin. You knew the rules. You know our laws, and you knew full well you were breaking them when you used axii to manipulate the mind of an innocent. And for what purpose? To cause harm to a girl who had never caused you harm.”

Varin spat at his feet. “Fuck you. The girl was _nothing_. I never gave a damn what happened to her, I cared only for putting you in your place. Gods, you’re insufferable! I’ve had to put up with you swaggering around since we were apprentices, like you’re the best thing the gods ever created. Always special, always chosen for extra training, extra mutagens, always the favorite! And then somehow, _somehow_ , you show up with a kid and a lover who can look like anything you want, a noble, a bard, welcome at any court in the land! Everywhere I go, all I hear about is the famous White Wolf – hah! You don’t deserve any of it, not the fame, not the happy little family – **none of it!** You took everything first, before any of the rest of us ever had a chance.” His gaze moved to where Jaskier stood behind him. “This is your precious lover! Here to murder a man, a _human_ , when he’s already been punished. How do you like your oh so noble White Wolf now, bard? I would have seen to it that you spent your days in comfort, pampered as you should be.”

“And all I’d have to do was wear whatever face and form fit your fancy of the moment, hmm?” Jaskier drawled, voice dripping with that highborn accent and disdain. “I’ve no use for a jealous, petulant bully. Geralt has always been worth a thousand – a million! – of you. Now, I’d advise you to just stand still and make this easy on yourself, but I’m sure that peculiar arrogance of yours won’t let you.”

“Even without the mutagens, I’m better than he is because I’m _smarter_ than he is. And when I am done with him, I am going to show you _exactly_ what you missed out on before I kill you too, songbird.” Varin attacked as the last syllable left his lips, striking with a commendable swiftness that Geralt still had no problems dodging. From the corner of his eye he saw Jaskier skipping back several prudent steps, freeing him to concentrate on the fight.

In a small way, it reminded him of his fight with Renfri. She had been one of the finest human fighters he had ever faced, fast and agile and clever, and Varin had always been all three of those things. But unlike the fight with Renfri, he had no desire to talk Varin out of his course, no desire to try to spare his life if he at all could. Varin was outmatched. He had been outmatched when he’d had the mutagens, always on the losing end when they’d trained together, and Geralt could see that knowledge in his eyes as the black haired man pressed his attack.

Suddenly, Varin broke away and lunged – Geralt hadn’t realized that they had turned and moved quite as far as they had, and Varin was in striking distance of his lover. He leaped forward desperately, but still not before Varin got within sword range of Jaskier. But Jaskier was not as defenseless as Varin had assumed, and went into a partial shift in a blink. A powerful, claw and fur hand batted Varin to the side, leaving tears in the leather armor over his arm. Jaskier then jumped up and into the tree and shook his head at the cursing man in the snow below him. “You’re a fool and a coward, Varin. You were never worthy of being called a witcher, and I will take great pleasure in going through the records to make certain every reference to you is wiped out – if Vesemir hasn’t done it already. When you’re dead, we will go back to the keep, go back to our lives, and forget you were ever a blot to mar Kaer Morhen and the continent.”

Varin howled in rage and turned back to Geralt. His strikes were even more desperate, fueled by a rage amped up just that much more by his failure to so much as scratch Jaskier, along with Jaskier’s oh so helpful mocking. Still, it wasn’t long before Geralt was able to bat his sword out of his hand. He brought the tip of his sword to Varin’s throat. He paused for just a moment to see if there would be any final words, apology or pleading or even a final insult, but Varin simply grabbed his wrist as though he would have a chance of wresting Geralt’s sword out of his hands. It was a simple matter to press forward, sending the point of his sword into Varin’s neck and out the back. Blood bubbled up as soon as he pulled it out, spilling out of the hole in his neck and down his chest. His mouth worked soundlessly and his hands clawed uselessly at Geralt’s arms and chest, not able to inflict so much as a short lived bruise. In less than a minute, his hate filled eyes clouded over and his body slumped to the ground to stare sightlessly at the gray sky.

Jaskier jumped down out of the tree and shifted back to full human between one step and the next, and tucked himself up under Geralt’s arm. Geralt didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t want to say that he was glad the man was dead – he was. But there was also a certain regret, because whatever else, Varin had been one of the last handful of wolf witchers, and his death brought the end of their school just that tiny increment closer. But he didn’t want to say that either.

Thankfully, Jaskier knew him very well and didn’t press him. He just wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned against him, a solid, warm presence that had become as integral to Geralt as his own heartbeat.

After a few minutes of silence, Geralt finally wiped his sword clean and sheathed it. Still silent, he bent and hoisted the body, careful to make sure none of the blood got on him, and started towards the river. Jaskier followed with Varin’s now useless pack. Vesemir would know, of course, but that didn’t mean they needed to leave the body right there for the older man to stumble across, perhaps mutilated by scavengers or something. He had to break through a layer of ice to get the body actually into the water rather than on it, and resolutely turned his back as Jaskier tossed the pack in after.

“Let’s go home, witcher-mine. I fancy a long soak,” Jaskier told him. Geralt wrapped an arm around him as they walked back to the keep.

A long, hot bath really did sound like a very good idea.

Varin was not spoken about again. Yennefer and Ciri returned, and though there were a couple new shadows in Ciri’s eyes, she seemed to be very much her normal self. She threw herself into various enchantments on their pendants, all useful and well thought out. When that project was completed, she threw herself right back into training, both with Yennefer and with the witchers in the mornings. As spring loomed around the corner, Geralt drew both Vesemir and Yennefer into frequent, private discussions about taking Ciri back on the path. There were pros and cons, and they all went round and round with them, endlessly trading and reiterating the same points. She was most definitely in need of more practical experience, yes. It would also cause word to spread of their unusual group, reigniting Nilfgaard’s interest in her. She had frozen in the face of the wyvern, etc.

Jaskier finally butted in and put his foot down. “She needs to go. She needs to get the experience. If we let her hide away practicing for too much longer, it’s going to become a mental block, and she’ll always be too afraid to try again. Yen, you’ll come with us. She has to learn to meld both weapons and magic in her fighting, which means she needs you there as well.”

Geralt wasn’t as certain as his lover was, at least, not until they informed Ciri. The instant fear in her eyes at the idea of being on the path, of helping with contracts, showed that Jaskier was right. Her failure with the wyvern had become a block in her mind, and if they didn’t help her over it, she would never be able to do so on her own. And the longer they waited, the greater that block would be.

Varin had died rather too easily.

When the time came, there was none of the jubilation of the previous year. None of the cocky assurance that had marked Ciri’s first foray into monster hunting at his side. As was often the case, they came across a contract for ghouls first. Winter was often hard on humans, and illness had a tendency to take the very old, and the very young. The packs that gathered in cemeteries after winter often weren’t terribly large, unlike when major battles happened. But, if one were cautious, they weren’t dreadfully hard to kill.

Geralt could hear her gag when he, Ciri, and Yen approached the cemetery. The ghouls were out, three of them, and busily digging up the most recent grave. Their stench carried on the light breeze, rancid and acrid to his nose, and apparently strong enough even to human senses. But Ciri didn’t vomit, and she drew her silver sword with a hand that did not shake. Geralt stayed close to her, but let her move in on her own. A bite from one of them would be extremely dangerous for Ciri – they were unbelievable painful for witchers, and untreated, could knock one out for days. For a human, without almost immediate and proper care, it would mean death.

The moment the ghouls smelled fresh meat, they turned with ravenous snarls. He could smell Ciri’s fear, but her hands stayed steady, and her mind stayed clear enough to remember her training. She used fire a bit more than Geralt would have, but then, he had the advantage of strength and speed. Nonetheless, and in spite of the fear rolling off of her, she managed to behead one fairly quickly. The other two scattered, snarling in pain from their burns, and it turned into a bit of a chase. Geralt stayed at her heel as she dodged and attacked, until finally beheading the other two. She stood panting over the last one, looking a little dazed. Geralt glanced once at Yennefer, to make certain the sorceress was keeping watch in case of stragglers, then pulled the young girl – young _woman_ – into his arms for a hug. “You did very well, Ciri,” he murmured. “Very well.”

“But I was – I was scared,” she whispered, clinging awkwardly, keeping her sword angled away.

She still was, but the fear was fading slowly. “So what? Only a moron wouldn’t be afraid of facing down monsters. You still did the job, and you did it well. You’ve nothing to feel ashamed over.”

“He’s quite right,” Yennefer chimed in. “Your performance was excellent. Chin up, dearest. You’ve just completed your first contract! Now is the time to collect your pay.”

“Oh, but it was Geralt’s contract!” Ciri protested.

“But you did the work. You do the work, you get the pay. I’ll let you buy me dinner, however, for my services as backup,” he allowed.

The last of the fear scent faded from her, and a slow, pleased smile spread over her face. She collected the ghoul heads and marched back towards the village, shoulders square and chin up. There was a new confidence in her walk that Geralt liked. It wasn’t the brash arrogance of youth, but the start of the confidence of an adult who knew their skill and their worth and were comfortable with both.

It was a very good look for her.


End file.
